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BY 



ROBERT REXDALE. 




PORTLAND, ME.: 
WILLIAM H. STEVENS & COMPANY. 

(SUCCESSORS TO HOYT, FOGG AND DONHAM.) 



f^y 
^ 



Copyrighted, 1886, 
By the Author. 



9, 



I 



From the Press of Ford & Rich. 



" It is one thing to write what may please our 
friends; who, because they are such, are apt to 
be a little biased in our favor; and another to 
write what may please everybody." — Cowper. 



DRIFTING. 






fairest maid of rarest days, 

Pomona's child with golden tresses ! 
I loiter in thy sylvan ways, 

My heart is warm with thy caresses. 
And o'er again, as in a dream, 

I voice the words the spell is wreathing, 
As in the reeds beside the stream 

Pandean pipes are lowly breathing. 

I think of one whose starry eyes, 

And laughter through the woodland ringing, 
And shy caress, and tender sighs, 

Attuned the poet's heart to singing. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

And like Ausonian king of old, 

I listen to the wood nymph's pleading, 

While this poor form of human mould 
Plods sadly after fancy's leading. 

river rippling to the sea, 

Thy silver waters, softly stealing 
In shadowed beauty o'er the lea, 

Awake the slumbrous chords of feeling. 
And on thy waves of rosy light, 

Seen in my boyhood's happy vision, 
I'm drifting from the shores of night, 

To isles of rest in realms Elysian. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



TRANSIT OF VENUS. 



Ma ull oft, Venus ! heaven's dearest star, 
My eye hath sought thee through the silent night ! 
In fancy traced thy far empyreal flight 
From Paphos' isle of silvery-crested light, 
Borne in thy golden car ! 

A brooding calm seemed on the western seas, 
As if to list thy swans' soft rustling wings ! 
A hush as when some love-lorn naiad sings 
To dreamful sleep beside their crystal springs 
The nymphs Hesperides. 

Across the wave no cry of frightened bird, 
No tempest's voice, no sound of laboring oar, 
Came on the Night's soft whispers to deplore 
Thy gracious presence over sea and shore, 
No fluttering pinion stirred. 

tranquil hour ! — sweet olive branch of peace, 
Plucked where life's stormy deluge billows roll ! 
Come thou again to cheer the weary soul, 
And bid it quaff from joy's o'er-brimming bowl, 
Till its vain longings cease. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

And thou, Sun ! be kind to her I love, 
As now she glides into thy waiting arms ! 
For ere the dawning she forsakes thy charms, 
To seek again the whispering Isle of Palms, 
And home of cooing dove. 

Then not again, until the circling nodes 
Have run the course omniscient Jove decreed, 
Shall she to thee her rolling cycles lead, 
And at thy feet with beauty's minions plead 
For rest in thy abodes. 

But he who sings a mortal's trembling tones, 
With senses wrapped in life's great mystery, 
Will nevermore, wayward Venus ! see 
Thy kneeling form at great Apollo's knee, 
Above earth's changing zones. 

And yet I cry, Oh ! for thy kindly beam, 
As my poor shade drifts toward the deathless strand ! 
Lest it should miss old Charon's beckoning hand, 
And wander lonely in the silent land, 

Where flows dark Lethe's stream ! 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



AT HYMEN'S SHRINE. 



fi3 

jJ8ah ! for the Thracian minstrel's song, 
Whose magic lyre charmed earth and sea, 
And called his lost Eurydice 

Erom out the dark and phantom throng ! 

Eor two whose virtues ever shone 
Besplendent, set hy hand divine, 
Have bowed before the chancel shrine, 

And Love has come to claim his own. 

Oh ! wondrous change of fleeting years. 
Time bears us in his ruthless hand, 
And as we near each fairy strand 

Some newer phase of life appears. 

To-day the tender floweret blows, 
To-morrow's sun the leaves unfold, 
And then its simple tale is told — 

The bud has blossomed to the rose ! 



10 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

But not alone in mystic rhyme, 
Nor fancies of a poet's brain, 
Shall unto other hours remain 

The memory of this joyous time. 

In after days, whate'er betide, 
The cycles of the changing year 
Will bring a morn still ever dear, 

To thrill the hearts of groom and bride. 

For those who walk the flowery way, 
When life is in its golden prime, 
Must list again the merry chime 

That ushered in their marriage day. 

Till, borne upon the silent stream, 
Fond memory sets her silken sails, 
And, wafted by the evening gales, 

Is lost amid the Isles of Dream. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 11 



WHITTIER. 



l wakEj lyre ! thy tender rhythmic throng, 
And bid them pause attendant to my theme ! 
For lo ! to-night, above the heights of dream, 
I watch a barque upon the deathless stream, 
And list the boatman's song. 

gentle Bard ! rest on thy weary oars, 
Nor longing turn thee toward the silent land ! 
Too soon the tide lifts to its golden strand, 
Where wait for thee the vanished poet band, 
Upon immortal shores. 

Of all whose song has thrilled our western isle, 
Thou art the last and dearest to remain ! 
Thy voice still rings with Freedom's grand refrain, 
And we respond to each quick-pulsing strain, 
Devoid of earthly guile. 

starry gems that deck the brow of Night, 
Veil not thine orbs in yonder azure spheres ! 
A life as pure as chaste Diana's tears 
Drifts softly down the ripples of the years, 
Beneath thy tender light ! 



12 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



DROPPED DEAD. 



(Stranger he was to the pitiless throng, 
Viewing his corse as they bore him along, 
Heedless for aye of their laughter and song- 
Dropped dead ! 

Low was the message that called him away, 
Swift as the thought of a child in its play, 
And in the grandeur of silence he lay — 
Dropped dead ! 

Only a heart whose pulsations are o'er, 
Only a form that will journey no more, 
Only a shade for the Stygian shore — 
Dropped dead ! 

Ah ! but the gaze of his wondering eyes, 
Piercing the blue of the midsummer skies, 
Looked where the Island of Mystery lies — 
Dropped dead ! 

What did he whisper, poet, to thee ? 
Joys of an infinite glory to be, 
Dreams of a soul by the shadowless sea — 
Dropped dead ! 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 13 



AMONG THE SHADOWS. 




V ithin the city's throbbing heart, 
Where life is bright and gay, 
There nestles from the world apart 
A graveyard old and gra}\ 

O'er mossy walls the ivy falls 

In slender sprays of green, 
And silently the lichen crawls 

The narrow mounds between. 

Here oft, in childhood's joyous hours, 
My errant steps have strayed 

From pleasure's warm, sunshiny bowers, 
Into the realms of shade. 

And pensively my fancy roamed 

Adown the years to be, 
Where fairy castles, jewel-domed, 

Gleamed through the mists for me. 



U SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

The victor's sword was mine to wield 

In battle with the foe, 
And love of truth and right the shield 

That met the tyrant's blow. 

Ah ! had our feet ne'er left the slope 
That seemed so bright of yore, 

We would not need to blindly grope 
Along a darkened shore ! 

But now the twilight shadow creeps 

Across the harbor bar, 
And o'er the tranquil azure deeps 

Climbs up a lonely star. 

angel Night ! thy dewy wing 
Enfolds the spirit's dream, 

And to the fevered heart you bring 
A balm from Kedron's stream ! 

The subtle web that fancy weaves 
Lies broken on the tomb, 

While in the path of rustling leaves 
I wander through the gloom. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 15 



LONGFELLOW. 



(Seventy-five bright, golden years, 
Journeying toward an all-wise Giver. 

Seventy-five ! And yet he hears 

The rippling sob of Time's great river. 

Still for us is his music heard, 

Strong and clear are its notes of warning ; 
Still are the lute-strings sweetly stirred, 

Warm is his heart as in life's morning. 

Turn, muse ! to that wondrous page, 
Grlowing for aye with song and story ; 

Brush with thy wing the mists of age, 
Sing of the minstrel's youthful glory. 

Here the scenes of his boyhood hours, 

Where i far-surrounding seas' are gleaming; 

And here the woodland's breezy bowers, 
Now sacred to his hours of dreaming. 



16 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

His was a triumph brave and grand, 
Worthy the laurel's proud caressing; 

His the touch of a master hand, 

Ever the notes of wrong suppressing. 

Only the gleam of silver sails, 

Under the even's purple glowing ; 

Only a glimpse of distant vales, 

"Where the fountains of Fame are flowing. 

For softly down the western wave, 

Toward shadowed isles his barque is drifting ; 
While still his song so pure and brave 

Our burdens from the heart is lifting. 

Seventy -five bright, golden years, 

Journeying toward an all-wise Giver. 

Seventy-five ! No more he hears 

The rippling sob of Time's great river. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 17 



THE CRICKET. 



(SBlraluen, vexed and weary 

With the dreamy summer day, 
Said the cricket's song was dreary, 

Thought the shadows cold and gray. 
"Little maiden, little maiden," 

Seemed the cricket's chant to be, 
"Life to day with love is laden, 

God is good to you and me." 
Sang the cricket in the thicket, 

By the swiftly-flowing stream ; 
Softly ope'd the golden wicket, 

To the fairy land of Dream ! 

Stars of Elnand ! faintly stealing 

Through the mists that fold the night, 

I a child again am kneeling 
In the splendor of thy light. 

ye tinkling, foam-white fountains, 
Bathe me in your silver spray ! 



18 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

On yon heights of sunset mountains, 
ye elfin harpists! play. 

Bid me enter at the portal, — 
Life is dreary, filled with pain, 

For the youth that seemed immortal 
Thrills no more the pulse and brain. 

Araluen ! child of laughter, 

Would that life were young to me ; 
Filled with dreams of some hereafter, 

Bright, and beautiful, and free ! 
Evermore with thee to ponder, 

By the river's ceaseless flow ; 
Evermore with thee to wander, 

Where the tangled roses grow. 
While the cricket in the thicket, 

By the swiftly-flowing stream, 
G-uards for aye the golden wicket 

To the fairy land of Dream! 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 19 



EUTERPE. 



tJLhis hour so beautiful with bloom 

Is sacred to the muse of song ! 
Its glowing sunset heights illume 
The hopes o'ershadowed by the tomb, 
And bid the fainting soul be strong. 

And now Euterpe's harp is crowned 

With gems that flash like morning rays. 

She gives us music for each wound, 

And bids the spirit lift its gaze 

To skies blue-arched above the mound. 

If olden memories of tears, 

The ghosts of unforgotten pain, 

Eise through the mournful mists of years ! 

She sings of undiscovered spheres, 
And solace brings the weary brain. 



20 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

sentient Lyre ! breathing Shell ! 

Thy mission to the world we own ; 
Since in the light of thy sweet spell, 
That star like o'er the desert shone, 

New scenes of beauty rise and dwell. 

So heavenward, on triumphant wings, 

Take flight, tired heart ! and end thy quest. 
Where Music's wand hath touched the springs, 
And love is in the song she sings, 

There flow the crystal streams of Rest. 




SONGS AND SKETCHES. 21 



MARGUERITA. 



(Star that shineth through the gloaming, 

Fairest gem on even's brow ! 
Far away my heart is roaming, 

As at Memory's shrine I bow. 
And my song to-night entwineth 

With affection's tender flower, 
For thy light, star ! enshrineth 

Memories of the twilight hour. 
Marguerita, Marguerita, 

Pure as yonder beauteous star ! 
Thou art nearer, thou art dearer, 

Than all earthly maidens are. 

Once again this bosom pillows, 
In the blissful vales of dream, 

Her who sleeps beneath the willows, 
By Mahahlah's lonely stream ! 

On my brow she softly presses 
Seals of love devoid of guile, 



22 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

As our fond good-night caresses 
Mingle at the parting stile. 

Marguerita, Marguerita, 

Pure as yonder beauteous star ! 

Thou art nearer, thou art dearer, 
Than all earthly maidens are. 

Long ago we met and parted, 

'Neath Italia's golden skies ; 
And I wander, weary hearted, 

Where young Marguerita lies. 
Fate's decree our lives did sever, 

Death hath chilled the lovely flower, 
But her name will wake for ever 

Memories of the twilight hour. 
Marguerita, Marguerita, 

Pure as yonder beauteous star ! 
Thou art nearer, thou art dearer, 

Than all earthly maidens are. 



* Music by J. L. Gilbert, Boston. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 23 



TO A LILY. 



W begal Lily on thy slender spear, 
To-day thou reignest on a golden throne ! 
Thy emerald robes are round thee lightly blown ; 
And I, a mortal of this rolling sphere, 
Have dared to look within thy sacred shrine, 
Pandora-like to seek that mystic power 
Which bids thee bloom as Hope's immortal flower. 

But vain, ah ! vain, this hapless quest of mine ! 
Yet, folded in thy voiceless petals, seem 

Sad whispers breathing from the realms of Care : 
i( wayward one on Time's unfriendly stream, 

Though now thy barque in stormy courses bear, 
There is a vale where fadeless blossoms blow, 

And through the years Hope's peaceful rivers flow !" 



24 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



EURYLEE. 



m'er the desert sands of duty, 
Hope allures to isles of beauty, 

Eurylee ! 
Where yon starry heights are glowing, 
And the streams of Song are flowing, 
There is bliss beyond our knowing, 

Eurylee ! 

Oh, thine eyes are on me beaming, 
As the raptured soul is dreaming, 

Eurylee ! 
And my heart is blithely singing, 
While to thee its flight is winging, 
Rarest treasures homeward bringing, 

Eurylee ! 

And from realms of love eternal, 

Sweet, seraphic strains supernal, 

Eurylee ! 



SONGS AJSD SKETCHES. 25 

O'er the wearied spirit breaking, 
Bear a balm to soothe its aching, 
Thoughts of hours with thee awaking, 
Eurylee ! 

Thou art lost to me forever, 
For the seas of Fate dissever, 

Eurylee ! 
But thy memory o'er me stealing, 
Harps upon the strings of feeling, 
Joy's elusive isles revealing, 

Eurylee ! 




26 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



STRIKE YOUR LYRES.* 



/Strike your lyres and raise the song, 

Ye hosts of jubilee ! 
Joyful anthems now belong, 

Machigonne ! to thee. 
For thy loving children kneel, 

At the altars of their sires. 
Then awake the welcome-peal, 

Strike ! strike your lyres. 

O'er the ocean of the years, 

Shines out Jehovah's smile ! 
And his hand the shallop steers, 

Where lifts the Hundredth Isle. 
Hosts advancing ! see the land, 

Lighted by its signal fires ; 
All is joy upon the strand, 

Strike ! strike your lyres. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 27 

Grladly, on this natal day, 

Proud city of our love ! 
Tribute at thy feet we lay, 

With offerings above. 
Peace be thine foreverinore, 

land of pure desires ! 
Minstrels of the golden shore, 

Strike ! strike your lyres. 



Page 114, History Portland Centennial. 




28 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



TENNYSON. 



jjb o thee, bard of our dear motherland, 
Belongs the tribute of my humble strain ! 

And though the lyre, in Youth's impulsive hand, 
Parnassus' song-swept heights may fail to gain, 

It wafts to thee, o'er England's distant seas, 
The fountain whispers of Castalides. 

Led by the magic of thy poet charm, 

I sought the wondrous quarry fields of rhyme. 

Saw where great Shakspeare wrought with mighty arm, 
And Milton groped upon the verge of time, 

Essaying with his sightless eyes to scan 
The guilty face of earth's primeval man. 

With thee I climbed the cloud aspiring tower, 

A patient seeker for the sacred grail ; 
Or touched the lute in Guinevere's fair bower, 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 29 

While love-lit eyes kept watch adown the vale; 
Or shared in peace the hermit's mystic grot, 
When slumbrous wings poised over Camelot. 

And though the heart that writhed beneath its sting, 

Hath wandered alien on a far off strand, 
Still will it seek for Hope's o'er-bubbling spring, 

And restful shadows in a weary land ! 
Where Genius, toiling by the whispering rill, 

May weave the web with all Arachne's skill. 




30 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



IN THE GLOAMING. 



ike the far away gleam 
Of a mist-hidden stream, 

The joys of the morning are showing ! 
But their light, as it nears, 
Shall illumine the years 

Where waters of Lethe are flowing. 

Though we mingle no more 

On that magical shore, 
Where brightly the sunlight is shining ! 

There are raptures that blend 

When the shadows descend, 
And life to its close is declining. 

For the stars will arise 

In our evening skies, 
The blossoms will bloom in the heather ! 

While so trustful and true, 

We will look to the blue, 
And wait in the gloaming together. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 31 



COLD IS THE HEART. 



jaSkold is the heart, sailor boy, 

That beat so warm and true for thee ! 
And o'er her grave the willows wave, 

By Machigona's moaning sea. 
Yet on her lips thy lingering name 

Was breathed with each expiring tone, 
As through the deepening shadows came, 

"Where art thou ? my love, my own." 

She whispered to the stormy main, 

lad who wooed, lad who won ! 
The faith that's thine while stars shall shine, 

Or roses bloom, or streamlets run. 
And oft, as under peaceful skies 

Our songs awoke the moonlit bay, 
A tear hath dimmed her tender eyes 

For thee so far — so far away. 



82 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

When Night shall fold its dewy wings, 

And silence broods upon the deep ! 
Her spirit dear will guard thee near, 

And o'er thy rest its vigils keep. 
In dreams will she draw close to thee, 

Until the shadows shall have flown! 
But yet thy waking thought must be, 

"Where art thou ? my love, my own." 




SONGS AND SKETCHES. 33 



TO-MORR W. 



Mi ok hopes that were wrecked on the drear isle of sorrow, 

We crave not your pity, nor ask for your tears. 
Leave us here with our thoughts of the golden To-morrow, 

In the halcyon hush of the dawning that nears ! 
Where cares cease to trouble, 
And Life's mystic bubble 

Drifts peacefully out on the tide of the years. 
Oh, days that are dead ! you were ghosts of the fancy, 

And tortured the heart to its deep-thrilling core ! 
But freed from the thrall of your dark necromancy, 

We drift with the bubble and sing to the shore. 



34= SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



THE SHIELD OF a OLD. 



"A bow-shot from her bower eaves, 
He rode between the barley sheaves." — Tennyson. 



JUull-orbed and bright the harvest moon 
Rose o'er the hills of Camelot ! 
And in the lonely hermit's grot 

The cheerful cricket harped in tune. 
And stately o'er the dewy wold 
There rode a knight with shield of gold 
From fairy-isled Shallot ! 

The splendor glorified the height, 
And filled the barren barley field ! 

And on the knight a starry light 
Flashed ever from the golden shield, 

As on he rode, serene and proud, 

With mien unmoved, with head unbowed, 
To where the lowlv hermit kneeled. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 35 

" father Merlin ! hoary sage, 

Nought knowest thou of loves or wars ! 

But peering in thy wizard page, 
Thou learnest of divinest laws. 

And at this hour, when to the skies 

Thy thoughts on peaceful pinions rise, 
My life's great secret read — nor pause." 

Though scornful was the hermit's air, 

It pity more that hate expressed. 
He marvelled than gay Waldemare 

Had ridden on so strange a quest ; 
For he was lord of lute and lance, 
A wielder of the tender glance, 

And beauty's glowing cheek had pressed. 

"And wouldst thou know, fickle one, 

The tale the book reveals to me ? 
Then seek yon grave ere yet the sun 

Hath sparkled on Tintagil's sea ! 
Oh, soothe the wound ! oh, right the wrong, 
And wake the silent heart with song 

That broke and died for love of thee." 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

And ever, where the mournful wave 
In solemn requiem hath rolled, 
A phantom knight with shield of gold 

Is watching o'er a moonlit grave ! 
And oft the listening hermit hears, 
When winds blow fair across the meres, 
A soul for mercy crave ! 




SONGS AND SKETCHES. 37 



SONNET. 



Ml or thee, fair maid of Erudition's bowers, 

In Life's bright vales rare buds of friendship blow, 
And tender, slender, fragrant blossoms grow, 

As joy entwines the pleasure-laden hours ! 

While upward borne on flight of airy wing, 

The minstrel kneels in Song's melodious fanes, 
To list the music of transcendent strains, 

And in some lightly-flowing measure sing: 

" Thou, Erato ! sweet muse of blissful spheres, 

On this dear maid bestow thy smile benign ; 
That as the soul its lofty temple rears, 

And trusting footsteps near thy mystic shrine, 

Love's joyous light may on her pathway shine, 
And beam refulgent through the distant years !" 



38 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



YOUTH. 



as 

jJPatjr Youth is but a fairy page, 
Whereon is traced with mystic art, 

Ere yet the eye is dimmed by age, 
Each happy secret of the heart. 

Be brave to read, Youth ! and heed 
The lessons that it bids thee learn ! 

There comes to all a crowning meed, 
Though we no silver clouds discern. 

Have little hands no work to do, 

In Life's far-gleaming harvest field ? 

Have little hearts no loves to woo, 
Shall tiny seeds no fruitage yield ? 

No rose that blows in leafy June, 
But from a baby bud has grown ; 

The dewdrop sparkled in the moon, 
And to the petal's cup was blown. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 89 

The mighty oak, whose branches throw 

A shadow on the placid stream, 
Ere God had bid it wake and grow, 

Lay in the acorn's heart a-dream ! 

So thus may we, who helpless lean 

Upon the Master's guiding arm, 
If we in Youth's fair vineyard glean, 

Be shielded from the shafts of harm. 

And when at last our earthly sun 

Goes down on Life's great harvest day, 

His hand will bind the sheaves undone, 
And guide us on our homeward way ! 




\ 



40 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



EASTER. 



aEIail, sweet morn of resurrection ! 

Here we humbly bend the knee, 
And the tendrils of affection 

Twine now lovingly for thee. 
Decked with garlands of the springtime, 

Seemest thou a child of May, 
But a pensive light is dwelling 

In thy thoughtful eyes of gray. 
Sad art thou, Easter day ! 

Star of hope ! we need thy guidance, 

And our songs to thee must flow. 
Hearts are weary, lives are dreary, 

Waiting till the roses blow ! 
Oh ! the hopes, the joys, the sorrows, 
Fond good-byes and bright to-morrows, 
That have perished, 
Loved and cherished, 
Since the days of long ago. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 41 

Though the shadows steal around thee, 

They are April's smile and tear, 
While our loyal hearts have crowned thee 

Queen of all the joyous year. 
For thou comest when earth's beauties 

Burst from out their wintry tomb, 
And our spirits, like the blossoms, 

Spring to sunlight from the gloom. 
Welcome then, day of bloom ! 




42 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



WHEN CURFEW RINGS. 



( jEi,RE breaks the morn, loved Helavieve, 

My barque shall woo the favoring gales, 
As far from thee, star of eve ! 

They waft me from sweet Mona's vales. 
But destiny will watch between 

The lives that seas must soon divide ; 
Thou art my country and my queen, 

And I'll be true whate'er betide. 
Then mark the hour when curfew rings, 

O'er yonder elfin haunted lea ! 
And on the Night's soft-rustling wings, 

My heart will wander back to thee. 

maiden fair, maiden rare, 
Thou art so near and dear to me, 

Thy memory is an olden air 

That pulses o'er the twilight sea. 

No voice but thine this bosom thrills, 
Since hope is in its lightest tone, 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 43 

And e'en thy songs by moonlit rills 

Breathed of the love you dared not own. 

Then mark the hour when curfew rings, 
O'er yonder elfin haunted lea ! 

And on the Night's soft-rustling wings, 
My heart will wander back to thee. 

Thy tender eyes their meshes weave, 

And hold the parting soul in thrall, 
As to my heart, Helavieve, 

I fold thee while the shadows fall. 
The hour has come ! — one long farewell, 

For lo ! my sight grows dim with tears. 
Thou tellest me, old curfew bell, 

We may not meet again for years. 
Then mark the hour when curfew rings, 

O'er yonder elfin haunted lea ! 
And on the Night's^ soft-rustling wings, 

My heart will wander back to thee. 



M SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



ARQADEE. 



aeguerite is young and fair, 
Marguerite has golden hair ! 
Marguerite is kind and true, 
And has eyes of rarest blue. 

If in Arcadee you meet, 

You will know her — Marguerite ! 

So a message lowly breathe, 

Where the hours their garlands wreathe. 

Say that when the years have flown, 
I will claim her as my own ! 
Nevermore to cross the tide, 
Nor to leave my darling's side. 

Marguerite will pace the strand, 
Marguerite will wave her hand ! 
Marguerite will welcome me, 
On the shores of Arcadee. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 45 



TWILIGHT. 



sacred hour that steals into the soul, 
When yon bright orb for me no more doth burn ! 

Though shattered be to-night the golden bowl, 
And all Life's weary wheels should cease to turn, 

Thy gentle voice shall calm my utmost fears, 
Thy mystic grace shall plead for me with tears. 

Vexed by the passions of the fleeting day, 
Assailed by doubts, beset by subtle snares, 

I come a pilgrim in the shadows gray ; 

As one who, wearied by the load he bears, 

Leans on his staff to hail the evening star, 
That rising gilds the distant harbor-bar. 

Is there no balm in all fair Gilead's plain, 

To soothe the anguish of the tempter's sting ? 

Siloam's waters ! gush they not again, 
Nor cool Bethesda lave the angel's wing? 

Death ! pale warder of the garnered grain, 
Must thy cold hand alone assuage the pain ? 



46 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

Yet were it not for moments such as these 



To peer within the future's misty vail, 
Our lives would be as ships on trackless seas, 

Devoid of hope, bereft of oar and sail ! 
And man, poor wreck of passion and decay, 

Would drift where faith ne'er sheds a cheering ray. 

So take, Lord ! this one brief hour of mine, 
In recompense for years of fruitless yield. 

Draw near to me, loving Heart divine ! 

And from the tempest and its dangers shield. 

Though dark the mists and strong the adverse]"tide, 
No fear is mine if Thou be at my side. 




SONGS AND SKETCHES. 47 



TO THE OLD YEAR. 

MIld Year ! we will laugh, as the goblet we quaff, 
And sorrow forget in the wine's bright flowing ! 

On its mystical tide together we glide, 

To islets of song in the ocean so wide, 

Where rarest of fancies and pleasures abide, 
And clustering hopes of the years are growing. 

Oh, oft in the strife and the folly of life, 

Song bursts from out of a heart that is breaking ! 
Till up from the calm there has stolen a charm, 
Alluring away to the realms of the palm, 
Where nymphs of the isle have distilled us a balm, 
To soften the pain of the spirit's aching. 

The song with a tear now is blended, Old Year ! 

A new light is seen through mists of the morning. 
The heart once so bold is now silent and cold, 
As thy form to my bosom I tenderly fold, 
And lay thee away with the years that have rolled 

In their ebb and their flow from the dawning. 



48 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



DREAMING 



aiden of the dark blue eye, 

Id whose trustful depths are dwelling 
Golden dreams of by-and-by, 

Blissful years to thee foretelling ! 
Oft the minstrel's lute would wake 

Strains that lure to realms of gladness, 
Did not pensive thought partake 

Of the twilight gloom of sadness. 

Though the skies are bright to-day, 

Canst thou tell me of the morrow ? 
If the heart will still be gay, 

Or shall weep alone in sorrow. 
For in youth we long to know 

Where our human hopes are tending, 
Ere the sunset colors glow 

In the blue above us bending. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 49 

And I cannot help but dream, 

In this sweet September weather, 
As beside the sunlit stream 

We are loitering together, 
Of the silent years to be, 

Where the sluggish waves are flowing, 
And I cry, tm Time ! — for me, 

All too swift thy sands are going." 

Maiden of the dark blue eye, 

May there nought our friendship sever, 
Should we part and say good-bye, 

Ne'er to meet on earth forever ! 
Other friends may prove as true 

, To thy glance so pure and tender ; 
Ah ! but tell me, eyes of blue, 

Will our dreams retain their splendor ? 




50 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



CREEDS. 



ow barren seem these human creeds, 
When Life's resistless tide recedes 

Out to the shoreless sea ! 
Our voyage with the boatman pale, 
That mystic walk within the vale, 

Without their light must be. 

The worm that grovels at our feet, 
Looks up its Maker's smile to greet, 

And owns His love divine. 
And man — poor worm of greater mould ! 
Shall not his clearer sight behold 

The Father's grand design ? 

Then cease the tumult of your strife, 
creeds that seek each other's life, 

Ye bear an empty name ! 
The narrow pathway up to God, 
In which angelic hosts have trod, 

Is lit by purer flame. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 51 



TRUE HAPPINESS. 



rib is not the blue of summer skies, 
Nor beauty born to perish, 
Wherein the happy secret lies — 
But friends we love and cherish. 

A kindly word, a sunny smile, 
Like waters brightly flowing, 

May lead the heart from paths of guile, 
And set the bloom a-growingj 




52 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



EIGHTEEN. 



bonnie lass wi' eye sae blue, 

Ye dinna ken the years to be; 
And c ami a tell who, false or true, 

May o'er tbe seas come wooing thee. 
But dinna leave dear Scotia's hills, 

Her heather bloom and laughing rills, 
To wander, oh ! sae far away, 

Frae those who bless thy natal day. 
bonnie lass wi' eye sae blue, 

Our ain true-hearted Annieu ! 




SONGS AND SKETCHES. 53 



THE TYPO'S RAVINa.* 



jNCE upon a midnight dreary, 
All in vain I sought the cheery, 
Soft, somnolent god of slumber, 

Tired nature to restore. 
All in vain my thoughts of napping, 
Vainer still my puny tapping 
At the door of sleep — now wrapping 

In its folds the silent shore. 
"Tis the tautog," said Ulychis, 
"For thy blood it much too rich is," — 

Only this, and nothing more. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain 
Banging of the window curtain, 
Thrilled me — filled me with splenetic 

Fancies never known before ; 
For my eyelids now were closing, 
And anon I should be dozing, 



54 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

Land of Nod in dreams disclosing, 

And perchance I may have swore, 
"That confounded window curtain 
Woke me up, I now am certain," — 
Only this, and nothing more. 

Presently my soul grew stronger; 
Night could last but little longer : 
At the morning's early dawning 

I would pace beside the shore, 
Pour libations to Aurora, 
(Weary Typos all adore her,) 
Watch the sea-gull — early soarer, 

Listen to the ocean's roar; 
Listen to the mighty ocean, 
Home of turmoil, force and motion, 

Rolling on forevermore. 

Once again in dreams I wandered, 
O'er a book I deeply pondered ; 
And from out its musty pages, 

Dog-eared, dingy, tost and tore, 
Crept the ghosts of other ages, 
Knights and ladies, squires and pages, 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 55 

And the tilt or tourney wages 

As it did in days of yore. 
Ah ! my soul is prone to sadness, 
For those days of mirth and gladness 

Now are lost forevermore. 

Then methought the scene had shifted, 
And a "fat take" I had "lifted" 
From a stone of pure Carrara 

Standing near the sanctum door ; 
And the sharp, incessant clicking 
Of the type that I was "sticking," 
Sounded like the measured ticking 

Of the clock — now pointing four : 
In the east the day was dawning, 
And the harbingers of morning 

Sang their matins o'er and o'er. 

But my dreamful sleep was broken 
By a soft word, lowly spoken, 
And Ulychis' fairy footfalls 

Tinkled on my chamber floor ! 
"Rise, sluggard ! from thy dreaming, 
For the eye of day is beaming, 



56 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

And the hungry gull is screaming 

From his perch beside the shore ; 
Rise, and quaff the kind nepenthe 
Angels from below have sent thee, 
Who thy presence now implore." 

M. Jfc. «U» «M» «tf» 

-7f ^T -7T *7T Tr 

And to-night the pale October 
Moon is gleaming, soft and sober, 
O'er the darksome woods that border 

All along the farther shore ; 
But distinctly I remember 
That drear time in mild September, 
When from fancy's burning ember, 

As they never had before, 
Blinked the foes to peaceful slumber, 
And the cares that day encumber 

Perched above my chamber door ! 



* Note. — This and the following effusions, in themselves un- 
worthy of preservation, are included in this volume solely because 
of their associations. So the author, while admitting the force 
of any criticisms that may be made, has no further apologies to 
offer for his apparent lack of good judgment. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 57 



A MOSAIC. 



i|pAH ! the good old days of Moses, 

When the decalogue was young ! 
How our patriarchal noses 

Lift to hear their praises sung ! 
Then no wicked Sunday papers 

Came to drive away the blues, 
And the milkman's merry capers 

Ne'er disturbed our morning snooze ! 
But around old Nebo's mountain 

Silence, " like a poultice," lay, 
And no druggist's soda fountain 

Led the inner man astray ! 

Oh ! the good old days of Moses, 
They are waiting at the gate ! 

So the multitude supposes 

By the sermons heard of late ! 

But the^ gentle voice of Reason 
Whispers in her children's ear, 



58 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

" Common sense is never treason 
To the prophet, bard, or seer ! " 

So we'll think the matter over, 
And let Moses have his due, 

But these good old days of Grover 
Are the best we ever knew ! 




SONGS AND SKETCHES. 59 



COLLAR! 

■JSan the bust of the maid with a B in her name, 

collar, fur collar, collar, 
I spied you one eve in a crocodile frame, 

collar, fur collar, collar! 
Ah ! my thoughts thickly new like the bees in a swarm, 
For the heart you enshrined beat so noble and warm, 
And the Fates seemed to whisper, " Superb is her form ! w 

collar, fur collar, collar. 

And now, in the words of our friend Mickey Doo, 

collar, fur collar, collar, 
May the punishment fit the great crime that I do, 

collar, fur collar, collar ! 
In tuning my lyre on nonsensical string, 
But I'm earnest and true when I say or I sing, 
You're as welcome as flowers that bloom in the spring ! 

collar, fur collar, collar. 



60 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

THREE MAIDENS. 



pb hree maidens went sailing away to White Head, 
With sandwiches, doughnuts, and pickles galore ! 

Intent upon having a nice little spread, 

In some shady nook on that picturesque shore. 

Each thought of the " sub." that then worked at her stand, 

And next of the foreman with whiskers so bland, 

But most of the beach and its sunshiny sand. 

" girls ! " cried a rather impulsive young maid, 

Who carried the bottle of red lemonade, 

" Let's take off our shoes and our stockings, and wade ! w 

Three maidens went wading out into the sea, 
As happy as clams when the water is high ! 

Oh ! they were as merry as maidens could be, 
Secure from the glance of a masculine eye ! 

But what to them happened, or how it befel, 

Is not in the province of poet to tell, 

For silence is golden where beauty doth dwell. 
Three maidens exclaim as they sit at their stand, 

And smile on the foreman with whiskers so bland, 

" Oh ! bother the beach and its sunshiny sand ! " 



5Ketel7e5. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. G3 



THE ROMAN FATHERS. 



TOhHRiSTMAS Day, with its customary good cheer, was 
again drawing nigh, and many a young heart — aye, and 
many a heart from which the buoyancy of youth had de- 
parted — beat a livelier time in anticipating the pleasures of 
this time-honored festival. 

What a host of tender memories start into life at the 
very mention of the name — Christmas ! By many this day 
is doubly revered, as being the last time they have ever 
seen many of the dear ones who wished them a tearful 
God-speed. And can we forget the happy faces assembled 
around the festal board one brief year ago ? Alas ! many 
of the numbers will never again greet us in this life, for 
they have journeyed to that mysterious bourne whence no 
traveller returns ; yet we are conscious of a nameless pres- 
ence at our side, and familiar forms are conjured by fancy, 
till we forget for a season the sad array of vacant places. 

At Brownlow farm the preparations for Christmas were 
conducted on a scale unprecedented in any former year, for 
it was to be the occasion of a grand gathering of the clans, 
embracing the Alpha and Omega of the present house of 
Brownlow. 



64 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

The family was a large one and well settled in life, and 
consequently a great number would be present. As a mat- 
ter of course, it required a vast expenditure of time and 
labor to cater to the wants of a whole generation, and for 
days before the old-fashioned kitchen was the scene of 
immense culinary operations ; and many a member of the 
feathery tribe strutted for the last time about its native 
barn-yard, ere entering a less ornamental but decidedly 
more useful state — for what would Christmas be without a 
goodly supply of poultry ? 

Dame Brownlow and her numerous help were indefati- 
gable in their efforts to fill the larder, and a sightly array 
of choice edibles was the result of their industry in this 
direction. The capacious buttery was filled with all the 

4 

good things appertaining to a New England feast, not 
omitting the indispensable pumpkin pie ; and if a due re- 
gard for the wants of the inner man is the chief feature of 
these festive occasions — according to Epicurean reasoning 
— then this promised to be a most enjoyable season indeed. 

Brownlow farm, from its situation on one of the main 
roads leading to the city, had a reputation for generosity 
among travellers, and the comfortable proportions of the 
quaint, square-built dwelling seemed to invite the weary 
and belated to rest beneath its roof. 

Squire Brownlow, as he was called, was well liked by 
his neighbors for his hearty manner and strict integrity, 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 65 

though he was unrelenting toward those who did him an 
injury, and it was of little use to appeal from his final de- 
cision. Although far advanced in years he was still active 
and rugged, though of late his vigorous constitution had 
undergone a marked change, and the rigorous lines of 
character were being softened by the insidious approach of 
old age. That something more than usual disturbed his 
peace of mind this bright December morning was apparent 
from the far-off look in his eyes, as if watching for one who 
never came. Yet it was his own unyielding nature that 
caused him to be unhappy. 

Adjoining Brownlow farm was the estate of farmer Fair- 
leigh, and between the two families there had existed for 
years a bitter feud, growing out of some legal dispute con- 
cerning deeds and titles, and augmented by various evi- 
dences of ill-will on both sides. With the Brownlows, to 
be a Fairleigh was to be all that was deceitful or dishonest 
— and, of course, the opposite views prevailed with the 
Fairleighs. But Cupid shot his golden darts regardless of 
family feuds, which it will be seen eventually brought 
about a reconciliation. 

A warm attachment had early been formed between the 
Squire's youngest daughter and Philip Fairleigh, which 
time served only to strengthen. As a union between these 
modern Montagues and Capulets was "a consummation de- 
voutly not to be wished," of course this tender passion was 



66 S01VGS AND SKETCHES. 

nipped in the bud ; and when Philip left the farm to en- 
gage in mercantile pursuits in the city, it was regarded as 
certain that he would soon forget his old love amid the 
more exciting scenes of the new life. But they mis- 
judged their son, for Annie's pretty face followed him 
even through the perplexing accounts of debit and credit, 
and he could as soon forget his very existence as the dear 
one he had left in tears ; and when at length he returned 
and announced his purpose to wed this will-o'-the-wisp that 
allured his mind from his books, he was met by an em- 
phatic denial from his prospective father-in-law, and by 
equally marked disapproval from his own family. But in 
spite of all opposition the young people effected a union, 
which aroused the parental anger to its highest pitch, and 
they were informed that all natural ties were henceforth 
severed — in short, that the door was forever closed to them. 
It was the memory of the absent one that caused the 
troubled look to rest upon the usually smiling countenance 
of the Squire, for the busy preparations going on about 
him had laid a train of tender, far-reaching thought. His 
heart was far away in the home of the daughter he had 
wished never again to see. He missed her lively presence 
from these preparations, in which she had delighted to par- 
ticipate in other years. He wondered if she would not 
come — if she thought of the united family at home this 
Christmas day. His heart seemed to reproach him for his 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 67 

hasty action, but the old nature was yet too strong for this 
tender feeling, and his bitter hatred of the name she had 
taken gained the ascendancy. Yet the desire to see his 
child was ever present, and the serious look and stifled sigh 
did not escape the keen eye of his wife, who readily guessed 
the reason of this secret despondency. 

"You don't seem like yourself to-night," she said, as he 
stood looking away over the moonlit fields. " Has any- 
thing gone wrong with the farm ? I'm afraid you worry 
too much about that mortgage on the south meadow. Or 
are we going to lose Brindle, after all ? " 

This piece of quizzing had the desired effect. The 
Squire had thought his troubled manner unobserved, and 
this notice of his perturbation caused him to forget the 
sternness of manner he invariably assumed when speaking 
of the daughter who had defied his authority and obeyed 
the dictates of her own heart. 

"No, there's nothing wrong with the farm," he said pet- 
ulantly. "That mortgage has been paid off this three 
months, and Brindle is as lively as a two-year-old. But, 
oh ! wife" — and he hesitated as if about to check himself — 
"there's something wrong with my heart ! I've been 
thinking all day about Annie ; and the more I think, the 
more I long to have her home again. I was thinking that 
maybe I was too hasty in doing as I did, and that I 
ought to forgive her. But" — the old spirit coming again — 



68 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

"she married a Fairleigh, and that deserves no forgiveness ! " 
"Yes, husband," returned his wife, "you were too severe 
in your punishment. It will break her young heart if she 
cannot come again to the old home. And it is all wrong 
to cherish this hard feeling against a neighbor. Does not 
the commandment tell us to love our neighbor ? Besides, 
Philip Fairleigh never did you any harm, and why should 
you seek to make him and ours unhappy ? We are grow- 
ing old now, and it's time to end this foolish quarrel ere it 
is transmitted to another generation." 

Dame Brownlow had never spoken so forcibly before, 
and her earnest tone added increased lustre to the forgiving 
flame that burned on his heart's altar. True the son had 
done him no harm, and was it right to bear an implacable 
hatred against one who never sought his injury ? And he 
was growing old : he had not thought much of that. His 
heart still retained the buoyancy of vigorous manhood, and 
the approach of time had been so imperceptible as to leave 
no impression on his mind j even though the keen sickle 
was ready to snap asunder the silver cord, he had never 
before realized how frail was his hold on life. Perhaps he 
might never again see the dear one he had banished from 
home — and would she greet him as of old in the life ever- 
lasting ? * 

Once again his gaze wandered far away over the snow- 
clad hills, as if watching for her coming, and once more 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 69 

his thoughts reverted to the long journey to the city. Yet 
he would not yield to his heart's promptings, and the still, 
small voice was again hushed in silence by the louder 
murmurs of the old passion ; but at times he would feel 
this new power returning, filling his heart with a strange 
spirit of forgiveness he had seldom known before. 

Meanwhile, at the Fairleigh farm there were also busy 
preparations for Christmas, and here, too, they longed for 
the return of the prodigal ; and a message had been sent 
into the "far country," bidding him return again to the 
paternal roof. The united entreaties of the family had 
been brought to bear, and the rough old farmer had yielded 
to the assaults of the fair enemy ; and so the fatted calf 
had been killed, and all made merry to welcome the prod- 
igal's return from the husks of the commercial field. 

■AL, .At. *ii- .At- .«, 

•7T TV* -TV* TV" "Tr 

Christmas eve at Brownlow farm — one of those early- 
darkening nights in which the day seems to steal silently 
away through the gathering shadows. A gentle snow fall 
had commenced and all nature was fast donning the ermine 
robes of winter, shrouding the gaunt-limbed elms in "a 
silence deep and white." There had been numerous ar- 
rivals daring the day, and to-night the old house resounded 
with the merry laughter of its guests, as they engaged in 
the games and pastimes peculiar to rural life, while the 
little ones looked forward with childish expectancy to the 
good things the morrow held in store. 



70 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

It was indeed a season to be long remembered, for many 
of this united race might never again meet at the home- 
stead so dear to memory ; while some, undoubtedly, would 
take their final farewell. The paths of life diverge from 
one common centre, but those who trace the lines do not 
always find their way back to the oft-remembered starting 
point; and thus many a traveller sets out upon the high- 
road to fame and fortune, only to become lost amid the 
winding labyrinths of the world, and nevermore return to 
home and kindred. Truly, these occasions that serve to 
unite the long severed should not be suffered to become 
obsolete calendar days. 

But all this hilarity and good feeling could not dispel the 
gloomy look that lingered yet on Squire Brownlow's face: 
his heart was far away from this scene of mirth and gaiety. 
Even when roguish Will or Tom had clambered on his 
knee for a ride to Banbury Cross, or some flaxen-haired 
little fairy had twined around Grandpa's neck, the smile 
that appeared was only a momentary one. He was think- 
ing more of the child of a few short years ago, whom 
perhaps he would never see again. 

He had eagerly watched each arrival during the day; 
but, though he warmly greeted the many welcome ones, 
he failed to see among them the looked-for face. 

As the twilight deepened into long, dark shadows, he 
quietly found his way to the deserted kitchen, where he 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 71 

could be alone with his thoughts ; and, seated by the bright 
old hearth, he gave himself up to a seeming endless reverie, 
the flickering shadows assuming fantastical shapes in his 
troubled brain. 

Soon he fell into a gentle slumber, and in dreamland was 
again united with his darling. He heard once more the 
musical ring of childish laughter in the blossoming clover, 
and saw the little arms outstretched to meet him. 

Now she had grown to beautiful girlhood, and was the 
joy of his declining years. And then he dreamed she had 
come back to him, as he waited for her sad and lonely — 
and he felt a kiss imprinted on his cheek. 

The spell was broken; — but was he dreaming? No! it 
could not be ; the warm, moist touch of loving lips still 
thrilled his senses, and he was now fully awake and no 
longer in the land of shadows. Was it possible for an in- 
habitant of the spirit world to revisit this earth ? Then she 
was dead, and had returned to kiss her cruel old father. 
But he would meet her again in the other life, and — 

"Father!" # # # "Annie !— child." 

No, it was no idle fancy of the brain. Close to his heart 
he held the dear form he had seen in the shadow land, and 
experienced the keen enjoyment of hope that ends in 
fruition. 

"Forgive me, father," she said, '-for this intrusion. But 
Philip's folks have invited us to spend Christmas, and I 



72 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

have come to see the dear old home once more. I did not 
mean to be seen, — but when I found you here, as if wait- 
ing for me to return, I knew you had not forgotten your 
wayward little girl." 

Forgotten her! Had he not watched and waited for her 
coming these many weary months ? No, he had never for- 
gotten her. 

"It is I that should be forgiven," he returned, "for my 
foolish pride and self-willed obstinacy. But I will make 
amends by ending this old feud that has made us all un- 
happy. Yes, I'll have the Fairleighs down here to-morrow 
if they will come, and we'll hear no more about separating 
young hearts because of family quarrels." 

And he was as good as his word. Farmer Fairleigh 
very sensibly embraced this opportunity for a mutual 
reconciliation, and accepted the cordial invitation to be 
present. 

What a change this Christmas day had wrought ! All 
former animosities were forgotten amid the interchange of 
kindly greetings, and a happier company never met around 
the festal board. And it had been the connecting link 
between these disunited lives, drawing them into closer 
union with each other. Squire Brownlow was the jovial 
old soul of former days, and seemed never so happy as when 
with his newly-found children. The temporary separation 
had only endeared his child to him, and now he was pleased 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 73 

to find she possessed the true Brownlow spirit, and had 
the courage to perform what she conceived to be her duty. 
Ah ! how short-lived was the determination of these old 
Romans to go on forgetting to the end of the chapter; it 
had yielded to that mysterious power which exerts such an 
influence upon mankind, and keeps our human passions 
within due bounds. For were our natures callous to this 
finer sentiment pervading the soul, the petty jars of life 
would open an ever-widening breach between those con- 
nected by even the most sacred ties. 

"And blessings on the falling out 
That all the more endears, 
When we fall out with those we love, 
And kiss again with tears." 




74 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



LITTLE ANNETTE. 



jstnette Barclay stood watching her father's schooner 
from the long Breakwater, till it became a mere speck out 
on the ocean, and was no longer to be distinguished from 
the other sails low down on the horizon. 

The freshening gales blowing over the harbor played at 
will among the long tresses blown in wild confusion around 
her slender form, and manj were the kindly glances from 
rough-bearded men in their uncouth fishing boats that 
turned to the lithe figure on the quay. 

Twilight came so imperceptibly as to be hardly noticed, 
till the lights of red and green gleaming from vessels in 
the harbor admonished her that it was time to return. 

The great, blinking eye of the lighthouse on the head- 
land now opened and closed with its usual regularity, and 
to Annette it seemed like some giant winking out over the 
dark waters; while across the harbor the city seemed a 
mass of twinkling light, dancing and flickering above the 
tall, dark masts huddled together in the docks. 

Young as she was, Annette was not insensible to the 
mystic influence of the time, and did not soon forget her 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 75 

walk home through the gloom and darkness of this June 
evening. 

Poor Annette ! She wondered if life were so lonely to 
every one at thirteen as it seemed to her, — and if it would 
always be the same. In her childish way she had conjured 
up bright scenes far different from this dreary existence in 
which she had been placed, till day by day a desire for 
something better — she did not know what — unfolded itself 
to her young mind. 

To be sure, Jasper Barclay was as kind and good to her 
as his rough nature would admit, and she loved him dearly ; 
but since her mother died, she had often been left alone 
days and nights together in the cottage by the shore, till 
the hoarse cry of the gulls and the sighing and sobbing of 
the sea, as she lay awake at night, had grown to be weird 
and mournful. It seemed at times as if her young heart 
would break with this strange passion, were it not that 
nature came to her relief with silent, kindly tears. 

"Bide thy time, little lass, bide thy time," her father 
would say, when childish questions could no longer be 
evaded, "and mayhap my Annette will be a grand lady 
some o' these days," and in his rough but kindly way he 
would draw her closer to him, and seek to read in the clear 
depths of blue the thoughts of her busy little brain. 

"But I don't want to be a grand lady!" Annette would 
say on such occasions. "I only want to know something 



76 SONVS AND SKETCHES. 

beside these sandy shores, and the big blue waves curling 
and dashing against the rocks. Often, when asleep, I 
dream I'm in — oh ! such a nice place, way, way off from the 
sea, where they don't have shipwrecks nor storms. But 
when somebody sings to me, and the air is full of music, I 
wake up to find myself all alone, and I hear the wind and 
storm. And sometimes, father, it seems to me then as if I 
could hear voices crying for help down in the surf !" 

"It be the fairies, lass — that's all. Many a time they 
have fetched my Annette to me, when the sea was breakin' 
over us and the rocks was near. But I could see thee 
beckon us awaj- from the storm, till we sailed into a great 
still river, where there was flowers, and trees, and birds, 
and little brooks singin' over mossy stones. It be the 
fairies, lass, it be the fairies." 

Thus he would, in his own simple way, attribute the 
phantasies of sleep to the subtle influence of Queen Mab, 
and strive to break the monotony of the storm without by 
singing some rollicking sea song about "a lass that loved 
a sailor," or draw a succession of jigs and hornpipes from 
his fiddle, till Annette forgot her loneliness, and danced 
and sang like the fairies about which he was so fond of 
telling her. 

A month had now elapsed since Annette's visit to the 
Breakwater, but she well remembered that long, lonely 
walk home to the cottage, under the twinkling stars, and 
amid the chirping of the crickets in the meadow grass. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 77 

She was glad that June with its roses had come again, 
for it seemed to her that she was happier when the flowers 
were in bloom. Her bush was full of lovely, double roses, 
and she saw with childish delight that the honeysuckles 
were climbing down from their perch over the window, and 
slowly gaining a foothold among the rosebuds, for she loved 
to see their dewy petals peeping through the green leaves. 

She often thought of her father, and wondered if he had 
forgotten her, while she stood watching the white sails till 
they seemed lost in the dark clouds resting on the sea. 
How lonely it seemed for him to be going away, and no 
one to say good-bye but little Annette. 

Annette, during Barclay's trip to the Banks, passed 
much of her time at the cottage of Duncan Carrick, the 
light-keeper. Duncan's cottage had no roses growing near 
it, and in stormy weather, when the sea broke at the base 
of the ledge and sent the spray flying against the windows, 
she thought it a dismal place to stay. But the keeper's 
wife was very kind to her, and she loved their baby with a 
child's idolatry, so that she was very happy at the light- 
house ; and on nights when it looked like a storm she 
would stay with Mrs. Carrick and the baby for company, 
as at these times Duncan was absent from his family at- 
tending to the lanterns in the tower. 

On the day of the great storm of June 19, 18 — , which 
brought desolation to many a fisherman's dwelling, Annette 



78 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

went over to the cottage early in the afternoon. The sky 
was dark and threatening, as when a thunder storm is 
brewing, and the sea beat itself wildly against the cliffs, 
rolling in waves of prodigious size crowned with their om- 
inous white caps. 

Towards evening the storm so long impending broke 
over them. At intervals the dull, heavy sound of the 
thunder would come booming over the water, and soon the 
storm burst with all its fury, while the lightnings followed 
their zigzag course through the heavens. 

Strange as it may seem in one so young, Annette loved 
to see these battles of the elements, for there was some- 
thing mysteriously grand in watching the bright flashes 
dart from black clouds and fight their way through the 
stormy skies, till at length they leaped with a hissing 
noise into the troubled waters, and the thunder could be 
heard chasing them away among the dark caverns of the 
deep. 

But the sea was ever whispering its great secrets in her 
ear, and it was from this she longed to be freed. Wheth- 
er in the night, when the waves were tossed and tumbled 
by the wind, or when she was playing by the shore, and 
they rolled peacefully in over the white sands, they told 
the selfsame story of wrecks and deaths on some stormy 
coast. Even the pink and white sea-shells echoed the sad 
refrain, till in them she heard the breakers and the storm, 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. . 79 

and voices from the sea that were calling "Annette! An- 
nette ! " 

"There's a wreck near the Junk o' Pork!" said the 
young lightkeeper excitedly, " and I'm goin' down to the 
shore. Maybe I can tell the life-boat crew where to steer." 

After kissing his wife and child, Duncan hurriedly left 
the cottage, leaving them alone with Annette. The baby, 
frightened by the storm, began to cry lustily, and its 
mother crooned him a little song as she rocked to and fro. 

Annette ran to a window and peered intently out into 
the darkness. Her keen young eyes, now rendered strange" 
ly bright by a sudden fear, seemed piercing the blackness 
that overshadowed the sea. She had caught a glimpse of 
the wreck, as a flash of lightning illumined the water, but 
it was instantly hidden from sight by the heavj T sea break- 
ing over it. 

The lighthouse threw its friendly beams far out on the 
water, but as the wreck had not yet reached the circle of 
light the life crew, aroused by Duncan's warning, could 
not see the ship or render any help. The brave fellows 
were struggling in the surf, though it was madness to pull 
their boat into the breakers with the sea rolling to such 
a height. 

A wild cry startled Mrs. Carrick and echoed through 
the cottage. It came from Annette, who had opened the 
window and was leaning far out so she could look down 



80 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

into the yawning sea below the cliff, unmindful of the 
storm that now raged so fiercely. 

In the illumination of the scene that preceded a terrific 
thunder clap, Annette had' recognized the wreck as her 
father's schooner. This recognition was more intuitive 
than otherwise — but it was true. Among the little group 
of fishermen on the wreck the tall figure of Jasper Barclay, 
standing bravely at his wheel, was strikingly prominent. 

Annette, heedless of Mrs. Carrick's attempts to soothe 
her, watched for the ship as it neared the lighthouse. It 
was pitiful to see the agony depicted on her sweet young 
face, as she reverentially knelt and prayed. If ever a 
petition winged its way to heaven, it was the prayer of 
little Annette. Suddenly the beacon shining out over the 
rocky shore was extinguished in a flash, and intense dark- 
ness enshrouded the scene. 

"Oh, Annette! — the light!" cried the keeper's wife, 
" the wind has broken the window in the tower ! " The 
cottage stood near the lighthouse, and she could see from 
there that all was dark. 

Out into the storm darted Annette — across the inter- 
vening space — till she reached the lighthouse. 

No thought of fear, no dread of voices in the sea, harassed 
her now. This child, whose love of a rough, kind father, 
was the passion of her life, was to-night the soul of heroism. 

One impulse alone led her on through the tempest — to 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 81 

light the great lantern in the tower and save the wreck till 
the life-boat reached it. She knew where Duncan kept his 
matches, as she often played in the lighthouse, and had 
seen him light the lantern at dusk. 

So up the creaking ladder that led to the tower Annette 
bravely climbed. She seemed insensible to fear, for once 
the cold wing of a sea-gull, that had taken refuge in the 
lighthouse from the storm, brushed against her face, but 
she made no outcry as she continued upward. 

At last she reached the top and fearlessly stepped upon 
the narrow platform surrounding the lantern. The storm 
shook the structure to the very foundations, and it seemed 
as if the old lighthouse would topple into the sea. Annette 
felt the salty wind that came through the broken window, 
which had caused the light to go out. She knew that un- 
less she could keep the wind out there would be little use in 
trying to light the lantern. By the faint blaze of the 
matches, which often were extinguished by the wind, she 
groped her way to the window, and into the broken pane 
fixed the shawl that Mrs. Carrick had thrown about her 
shoulders when leaving the cottage. 

And soon out over the dangerous shore burst a great 
flood of light, shining through the storm and guiding the 
life-boat toward the wreck. The lines were thrown, words 
of encouragement from those on the beach reached the 
drowning men, and one after another — till only the skipper 



82 SOJVGS AND SKETCHES. 

remained on the sinking wreck — they were pulled through 
the surf in safety. Barclay, inured as he was to danger, 
felt no fear as he plunged into the sea with a rope around 
his waist. He was a powerful swimmer, and a few vig- 
orous strokes would bring him to the boat. But a huge 
wave breaking over him, he was borne with crushing force 
against the crags, and when he, too, was taken into the 
boat, there was a consciousness that Jasper Barclay had 
been fatally injured. 

When Duncan, the keeper, returned to the lighthouse, he 
found a childish form lying white and still near the ladder 
by which the lantern was reached, with a crimson stream 
slowly oozing from under her tangled tresses; and the light 
fell upon a pale, upturned face, now as motionless as 
sculptured marble, yet wearing that same fragile beauty 
which in life had moved all hearts to a love of little An- 
nette. 

■rr ^r =7? ^F 

The morning broke in all the unclouded beauty of June, 
and it was hard to realize that the night had been so 
terrible. The sea was now one great expanse of rippling 
blue, with here and there a white sail to relieve this monot- 
ony of color, save where the dense foliage of the islands in 
the bay gave a greenish cast to the waves, on which the 
sunlight wrought its various phenomena of light and shade. 
But there lingered yet in the air a perceptible trace of the 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 83 

commotion caused by the storm, noticeable even in the 
tremulous notes of the birds, as if they were afraid their 
noisy twitterings would awake the slumbering elements. 

Yet not the beauty of the morning, nor the busy hum of 
life that filled the air, brought happiness to the cottage 
where Jasper Barclay lay suffering beneath a double sorrow. 

His own Annette, the pride and joy of his lonely exist" 
ence, the one idol of his thoughts in whom centered every 
good resolve, had sacrificed her young life to appease the 
fury of the deep. In the old lighthouse, with the waves 
dashing against its trembling base, and amid the murmurs 
of the storm, her spirit had gone forth to meet the voices 
that were ever calling from the sea. 

The news of her tragic death spread far and near, and 
many visitors called during the day. Her father told, with 
simple pride, the story of the light going out when the 
storm was at its height, and how Annette had gone into 
the darkness to return no more in life. The ordeal had 
been too great for her delicate nature, and when she had suc- 
ceeded in lighting the great lantern in the tower, the re- 
action of the excitement which enabled her to brave the 
storm caused her to fall from the ladder — and the cruel, 
sharp stones in the wall had pierced her brain. 

They buried Annette by the side of her mother, and 
away from the sobbing murmur of the sea that had vexed 
her in life ; for Barclay thought she would rather lie where 



84 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

the flowers would grow upon her little grave, and where 
the birds were happiest in their carolings through the long 
summer days. 

The death of Annette was a heavy blow to Barclay, and 
day by day a change for the worst could be noticed. 

"It will soon be over," he said one day to Duncan. 
"My heart's in the grave with Annette, aud I don't want 
to live no longer. She comes to me when I'm asleep, with 
her little hands tilled with flowers; and I can feel her warm 
kisses on my cheeks, like as when she was a pretty lass at 
my knee." 

To all questions concerning the future he made but one 
reply. His was the simple faith that leads to immortality, 
rejecting the conflicting creeds that make the path of life 
so devious, and finding a never-failing grace in the love of 
a wise Creator. And no argument to the contrary could 
convince him that his angel Annette was not waiting to 
welcome his coming. 

A day or two later Barclay had another of his "bad 
spells," as the doctor called them, and grew more delirious. 
His eyes had already assumed that far off, longing express- 
ion indicative of death, and remained fixed on the little 
window where the roses were nodding in the sunshine, as 
if watching for Annette to look in as she did in life. 

The next night, as the village clock slowly, solemnly 
tolled the hour, he counted the measured strokes, and said 
to those who watched over him : 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 85 

"'Leven o'clock, mates! One hour more, an' the tide 
'ill be on its ebb." 

They thought his mind was wandering back to the sea, 
and gave no heed to this remark. But when midnight, 
weird and lonely, echoed from the distant steeple over the 
water, the soul of Jasper Barclay drifted out with the tide 
— away to the havens of eternal peace. 

In the old cemetery, amid the dark pines, three grassy 
mounds lie side by side. No stones now mark the larger 
ones; but, hidden by the long, tangled grass, a small white 
tablet tells who sleeps beneath the tiny mound. It is the 
grave of little Annette. 




86 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



HULDAH. 



"Me rather all that bowery loneliness, 
The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring. 
And bloom profuse and cedar arches 
Charm, as a wanderer out in ocean ; 
Where some refulgent sunset of India 
Streams o'er a rich ambrosial ocean isle, 
And, crimson-hued, the stately palm woods 
Whisper in odorous heights of even." 

— Tennyson. 

"ST 

Wah, how you startled me, you naughty boy ! M And 
a shrill, girlish scream, mingled with the sudden crashing 
of the bushes, broke the silence that had brooded over the 
"haunted dell" — a lonely yet picturesque spot on the 
Mahahlah river; where the woods are sombre even at noon- 
tide ; where the river becomes turbulent as it hurries on to 
the sea, abounding in dangerous currents that form a 
whirlpool below ; and where, upon a summer's day, I love 
to watch the white clouds drifting heavenward and list 
"the brooks of Eden mazily murmuring." 

An August afternoon in the woods should partake of the 
spirit of a dreamy, idyllic sort of existence — akin to that of 



SONGS AN I) SKETCHES. 87 

the golden age, where man needed not to take thought of a 
care laden to-morrow. Unless it can lay claim to this in a 
greater or less degree, it is not a real, old fashioned after- 
noon at all. But with the time in question no such fault 
could, in all fairness, be found ; it was an August afternoon 
of the most pronounced type, pervaded hj a quietude that 
reigned in undisturbed serenity. 

And seated by the swiftly flowing Mahahlah, within the 
shade of a tangled growth of shrubbery that shut out the 
sun — and which formed as fair a bower as any in fabled 
Tintagil, where Queen Isolt solaced her weary heart with 
hopes that crept up from a twilight sea — Huldah Stratton, 
the village teacher, gave herself up to the pleasant phan- 
tasy of a day dream, with half closed eyes that scarcely 
saw the bright water beyond, as she reclined with one 
cheek resting on her hand. But her brain was active, 
though bodily sense was languid and tired. 

If this girl had been offered a penny for her thoughts, 
very likely she would have told you, with a roguish smile, 
they were not worth even that trifling sum. Huldah had 
a way of smiling that gave an appearance of roguishness 
often when she was the least in a happy mood. There 
were oh ! such serious moments in her life at times, and yet 
one who did not know her well, or in some measure share her 
confidence, would never think that Huldah Stratton cher- 
ished aspirations for anything above a country school 



88 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

teacher, content to drudge through life as the servant of 
every district in which her lot was cast. And as for getting 
married — why, nobody ever, to my knowledge, thought 
such a thing likely to happen. She cared nothing for the 
village beaux, beyond yielding them an occasional walk or 
drive; and then her keen insight into human nature, 
coupled with a habit of lashing their many failings, as if 
she were punishing a stubborn boy at school, soon chilled 
any budding hopes of winning Huldah's affections, and left 
her free to pursue her studies at the Parks farm, a pleasant 
home two miles from Winhampton, where she had lived 
since coming into the district. 

Village gossips asserted, and not without truth, that 
most girls who taught the little red school on the hill 
turned out to be old maids. Why, then, should Huldah 
Stratton be a notable exception ? they reasoned. 

But Huldah was young and pretty, wasn't she ? Y-e-s, 
she was both of these. So were the others young — possi- 
bly surpassingly pretty — once. Yet those who said that 
Huldah, although she had only reached her twenty-second 
year, was destined to be a maiden all forlorn, did not fully 
carry out the idea of the nursery rhyme, for they forgot 
that a "man all tattered and torn" might turn up some 
day and scatter their predictions to the four winds. 

Ah ! they little knew the true feelings, the inner emo- 
tions, the lofty aspirations, the grand hopes for the future, 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 89 

that surged like a mighty tide through this girl's soul in 
moments of awakened fancy — flowing in and out among 
strange creations of the brain; receding from her again, 
till only long reaches of gray sand remained ; and then the 
ebb would come, bearing upon its bosom an argosy of 
hopes, only to be wrecked and strewn along the shore. 

So Huldah waited and watched by the sea. She built 
castles that reached the blue empyrean, but they tumbled 
down in ruins. Very sensibly, too, she kept her own 
counsels, or whispered them only to the goddess of the 
moon. But she knew the tides were ever flowing around 
the earth. And while night followed day, and the hours 
waxed and waned, and the stars and planets came with the 
eventide, why should she not hope that some day her 
ship would find its haven ? 

"I beg your pardon, miss," a pleasant voice said, follow- 
ing Huldah's startled exclamation in the opening of the 
story. "This sudden intrusion, as you doubtless see for 
yourself, comes of my falling over the hedge." 

He was careful to conceal the fact that at the time of his 
tumble he was trying to catch a glimpse of her face unob- 
served, having seen her as he crossed a log over the river 
some distance above. 

"But of course I'm a l naughty boy,' as you have said," 
he went on, " and old enough to know better ! " 

Huldah was on her feet in an instant, while a deep crim- 



90 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

son blush mounting neck and face made her look charming- 
ly pretty, and told of maidenly embarrassment. Hastily 
smoothing back her auburn tresses, which during the rev- 
erie by the river had fallen in unconfined luxuriance about 
her shoulders, she turned to meet the speaker. 

His voice was one of exquisite modulation, calm, undis- 
turbed by the accident, and Huldah felt well disposed 
toward him. He was a perfect stranger, but, while dex- 
trously slipping a hairpin where it would do the greatest 
service, she found time to place his age nearer thirty than 
twenty, and thought him very handsome. 

"Oh, I thought it was Linky," she replied, "and didn't 
mean to be rude," noticing that he was smiling at her evi- 
dent perplexity of manner. 

A feeling of pity for him soon dispelled all curiosity as 
to who he was, from whence he came, or whither he was 
going. She saw he was in need of such aid as even a girl 
can render. This gentleman, who had so suddenly been 
literally hurled into her sphere of existence, was some 
sportsman in quest of an afternoon's trouting along the 
stream. Her natural Yankee instinct of guessing told her 
this; but a bamboo rod, broken into three pieces, was con- 
clusive evidence. In his fall an ankle was sprained, and 
his face and clothes were torn by the bushes. Surely this 
was the man all tattered and torn ! But had he come to 
awaken new longings in Huldah's heart, and lead her into 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 91 

the world where great possibilities wait but to elude am- 
bition's grasp ? 

" Who is Linky ? " he asked ; in such a droll way, too, 
that Huldah gave vent to a little laugh, which had the 
effect of putting her much at ease. 

" I had forgotten you didn't know Linky," she replied. 
"His name is Lincoln Parks, and he is one of my scholars, 
but everybody here calls him Linky. He went up the 
river to fish, and as he is always playing tricks, I thought 
he was trying to frighten me." 

"But you are suffering, sir," she continued, in a voice 
full of sympathy. "Isn't there something I can do to 
help you ? Your face is bleeding. I will get some water." 

" Only a slight abrasion of the skin, I think. But — oh ! 
— ah ! — yes, confound it ! Excuse me, but I've sprained 
my left ankle rather severely." 

" Then I will go for help at once. Oh, I wonder what's 
keeping Linky. I'll run up to the meadow — perhaps he's 
there. 

In a moment she would have been off on this errand, but 
he bade her stay with him. 

"Now, don't be frightened. You will do just as well as 
the boy — yes, better. And now lend me your hand, till I 
get on my feet." 

Huldah unhesitating!}^ put her shapely brown hands in 
his, which were much whiter and evidently unused to heavy 
work. 



92 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

The slender, girlish form seemed possessed of wonderful 
strength, under the stimulus of excitement. She tugged 
and pulled with a will, but the injured ankle needed tender 
care, and at last, by putting both her plump arms around 
his waist, she fairly lifted the gentleman to his feet, which 
position he maintained by grasping a low bough above his 
head. 

" There ! " she cried, exultingly. " I knew I could lift 
you up." 

" Yes," he replied, with a smile, " when a woman will, 
she will, you know. And I thank you very — " 

Their period of self-congratulation was brief. Snap ! 
went the rotten limb overhead, and with a sharp cry of 
pain he fell in a dead faint on the ground, while Huldah 
bent over him in great trepidation. 

Only for a moment was she undecided how to act. Dur- 
ing her career as teacher she had seen many of her scholars 
taken with fainting spells, and with admirable coolness 
had always applied the means at her command. Water, 
she knew, was needed to bring back a glow of health to the 
pale features now resting upon her lap. 

The river was not far away, though the banks were pre- 
cipitous and she could not easily clamber down to the 
stream. But she remembered there was a cool well up in 
the meadow, because Linky had that very afternoon fetched 
her a refreshing draught from it in the tin cup that now 
reposed within a small willow basket filled with berries. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 93 

Huldah and Linky, with whose parents she lived, had 
improved this half holiday to go berrying together. The 
girl loved to roam through these grand old woods, or wander 
across the meadow to where the river went rippling on to 
the sea, and Linky seemed never so happy as when she 
asked him to go with her. 

In one way or another the boy was always anticipating 
some new pleasure for his young teacher, and in return 
Huldah took a warm interest in Linky's welfare, so that 
between them there existed, in some measure, an inter- 
change of ideas, of affections, and even a sense of depend- 
ence upon one another. If a new sorrow appeared within 
the narrow circle of Linky's boyhood, Huldah was the first 
to whom he went for comfort, and he was always sure of 
finding in her that sympathy and kindly help which to a 
boy is more than worldly treasure. 

So, too, with Huldah. Whatever favor she might desire 
at Linky's hands was cheerfully granted ; and in more 
ways than one, she found, could the boy be of help to her. 
The intervals between school hours left but a small part of 
the day she could call her own, but as these few crumbs 
from the loaf of time were swept together by her careful 
hand, she was possessed of a fund of leisure which a person 
less prudent could never accumulate. 

It was the old story of Dives and Lazarus, only distin- 
guished by a different application of the parable. Lazarus 



94 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

hungered for the crumbs which fell from the rich man's 
table; but Huldah longed — and oh, how wistfully — for 
the days and weeks that others frittered away in idleness, 
when she saw those around her who had such golden oppor- 
tunities for success. 

Should you ask why Huldah Stratton found the drudgery 
of teaching a country school distasteful to her, my answer 
must be that she no longer regarded this work as filling 
the measure of her hopes ; there were higher branches on 
the tree of knowledge which she aspired to reach. And 
yet she was much too conscientious to think justice could 
now be done her scholars, when the mind was disposed to 
wander in more alluring fields. 

.AJ- -it* Ji- -il- -SL. 

"TV* -A* ■VT -7T -"TY- 

" Jee-whiz ! Miss Huldy, what's happened ? " There stood 
the much-wanted Linky, with a string of fish in one hand, 
and in the other the blackest, sorriest looking crow that 
ever pilfered a farmer's corn, which some sportsman had 
shot through the wing and Linky had captured on a stone 
wall. Had Huldah been placed in a less serious position, 
she would have laughed outright at his comical appearance. 

" Oh, never mind now," she said excitedly, " but take 
the dipper from the basket and fetch me some water. And 
be quick about it, Linky, won't you ? Now, don't stop to 
ask any questions." 

" Yes, but what'li I do with my crow ? " asked the boy, 
not wishing to lose his prize. 



HONGS AND SKETCHES. 95 

"Oh, Lincoln Parks ! " said Huldah impatiently, "you 
are the most exasperating little sinner aliye. Bother your 
old crow ! What good is it, anyway ? " 

" Lots of good — sure," said Linky stoutly. " I'm goin' 
to cut his tongue, and make a poll parrot out'n him." 

"Then give me the dipper — and I'll get the water. But 
remember, Linky, if I am drowned in the river, you're to 
blame ! " 

This speech had the desired effect upon the boy. Hasti- 
ly clapping the wounded crow under his hat, and placing 
thereon a stone, he at once started for the river and re- 
turned a few minutes later with the dipper filled with water. 

Gently did Huldah bathe the high, white forehead and 
pale, tensely drawn features of the injured man. With 
nature's restorative, cold and sparkling from the stream, 
she felt confident of her ability to manage the case. 

The minutes seemed like hours, as they dragged them- 
selves along. She heard a bird singing in the big elm in 
low, tremulous tones, when the accident happened ; but 
now all was still — above, below, around — and the bird had 
flown away. Save her whispered instructions to Linky, 
who was vigorously chafing the gentleman's palms, she 
heard no sound but the river gurgling over its pebbly bed. 
Huldah grew fretful at her patient's delay in regaining 
consciousness — but then we are, by nature, creatures of 
impatience. 



96 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

If I were asked to give an instance of genuine patience, 
there would arise a strong temptation to cite the history of 
a literary friend, who, young vivacious, talented, and of 
many lovable qualities of heart, is unhappily deprived of all 
outward contact with life. The world is seen only in 
shadowy outlines, dim and half remembered, as from the 
mirror of memory is flashed for an instant some scene of 
happier days. But no complaining tone is heard, no voice 
of lamentation arises in the land, for in dark and trying 
hours the great lesson of patience was learned. Like the 
Lady of Shallott, this young poetess weaves into warp and 
woof the shadows that flit across her brain ; and dull must 
be the eye that cannot find therein the lowly flower, the 
stately forest, the strong light of morning, the mellow 
beauty of the sunset hour, the tender beam of ''softly 
shining stars," blended in delicate textures of thought and 
sentiment. 

A low, long-drawn sigh from the stranger's lips told of 
his return to a conscious state. Eagerly did the girl listen, 
with her face close to his, for a repetition of the sound, for 
she knew that when his breathing became strong and nat- 
ural there was really no danger. He opened his eyes, and 
smiled into the fair face so near his own ; he told her not 
to be frightened, as he felt much better. 

"Jee-whiz! mister," broke in Linky, "I thought you 
was dead — sure. I'm glad you aint, all the same — coz it 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 97 

might skeer Huldy. But I'll git Dad to come down with 
the hoss. He's makin' a fence in the medder, and I won't 
be gone a minute.'' 

Farmer Parks was in the meadow when Linky, hatless 
and breathless, arrived there, and he promptly went to the 
scene of the accident. 

" I trust you will pardon my question," said the stranger 
while they waited for the team, "but tell me are you not 
Huldah Stratton ? The boy — Linky — calls you Huldy. 
And by the way, my name is Bramhall — Hilliard Bramhall, 
your most devoted servant, for such kindness as yours 
merits devotion." 

"Pray do not speak of it, sir — Mr. Bramhall. Your 
gratitude alone is sufficient ; and is it not our duty to help 
one another ? Yes, I am Huldah Stratton. But how 
you, a stranger in Winhampton, should know of me, I 
do not understand." 

"Beauty, my dear Miss Stratton, is its own bright 
herald. Like some lovely flower beside the stream, it may 
bloom unnoticed by the world — yet the very winds whisper 
its dwelling place." 

"Your failings lean toward flattery," answered Huldah 
with much spirit. " And frankly, sir, I do not care for 
adulation." 

Hilliard Bramhall, clever man of the world as he was, 
smarted beneath this stinging blow. Yet he would not 



98 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

let this country girl, who knew so little of the world and 
its ways, see that her honest speech had disturbed his 
temper. His experience with women had led him to think 
them all alike in a fondness for flattery ; and here, he 
thought, was one invulnerable to all assaults. And in one 
brief moment Huldah, whom he had compared to a lowly 
blossom, came nearer his ideal of womanhood than any he 
had met before. 

There was, after all, a touch of sentiment in what he 
said that secretly pleased Huldah Stratton. Show me the 
girl of twenty-two who does not like to be called pretty, 
and these wondering eyes will look upon a rarity ! 

"Your pardon, Miss Stratton, for I did not mean to 
flatter. Sympathy- such as you have given me is deserv- 
ing of more chivalrous regard. Unfortunately, I have the 
habit of saying little pleasantries in an original way j and 
you are not, I hope, offended because I have used a flowery 
metaphor to express myself. But certainly truth and 
justice will bear me out. Beautiful you are, and deserving 
of the name. Why, I have been a guest at the Elms only 
a day, and your name has been on the lips of cousin 
Therese a dozen times." 

The Elms being the residence of Judge Nathan Jerrie, 
whose daughter Therese was Huldah's most intimate friend 
among the girls of the village, she readily divined that this 
was the cousin she had often heard of when visiting there. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 99 

He had graduated with medical honors at Bowdoin, and 
having means for travel, spent the following two years 
abroad, preparing himself by close study to share his fath- 
er's practice in the city. Upon his return home he con- 
tracted a violent fever, from which he had recovered some 
months ago, and was now passing a few weeks at his uncle's 
country home. 

" Oh, indeed," said Huldah, " then you are the cousin of 
my dearest friend. So I readily forgive you " — placing her 
hand in his outstretched palm. " And here comes the 
wagon now. Mr. Parks will assist you to the Elms, where 
your friends are." 

" But I shall see you again, of course ? " he asked. 

"Oh, I hope so — when your foot gets well. Then you 
can come with Therese to see my scholars. Or perhaps 
you would like, as you are from the city, to visit us at the 
farm ? " 

" A duty I shall gladly perform," was his earnest reply. 
And, amid an exchange of good-byes, farmer Parks drove 
off to the village. Huldah, who was strangely happy and 
knew not why, soon took the homeward path, while Linky 
patiently trudged on behind with his string of fish and the 
wounded crow. 

The days glided rapidly down the bright stream of time. 
September had passed her sister months, and now kept 
stately on toward autumnal glories. Winhampton, and 



100 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

neighboring villages up the Mahahlah, took on the garb of 
loveliness, and a more typical New England scene, rich in 
its variety of midsummer beauty, it would be difficult to 
find. 

Hilliard Bramhall, now that his ankle was strong again, 
became a veritable Pantheist among the temples of nature, 
and daily worshipped at their shrines. As a physician, he 
took an interest in whatever might advance his profession, 
and carefully noted the kind influence of this rugged 
country life upon himself. He found here those priceless 
boons, health and happiness — jewels fit for a king, were 
every other gem lost from his crown; for of what avail are 
kingly prerogatives when the heart is sad, and pain is 
regnant over bodily sense, and contending forces within us 
battle for supremacy ? 

Huldah, too, found new pleasure in the time. These 
early autumn days were so filled with pensive beauty, so 
exquisitely colored with variegated hues, that she wished to 
enjoy them in all their fullness. 

Morning and evening, on her way to and from the school, 
the walk through fragrant meadows, across the sparkling 
stream, over breezy uplands affording a view of the sea 
beyond, was indeed delightful. 

Linky was always at her beck and call, but as she chose 
to indulge in reveries she seldom conversed with him. The 
boy often wondered what engrossed her thoughts, but 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 101 

amused himself as only boyhood can — chasing the squirrels 
from tree to tree, throwing stones at saucy wood-peckers 
on the fence rails, or picking wild flowers to adorn Huldah's 
desk at school. 

Doctor Bramhall frequently joined her at the stile near 
the village, and walked home with her to the farm. At 
first these were apparently chance meetings, as he appeared 
like Nimrod with a fowling gun under his arm, but finally 
they took place as a matter of course. They sometimes 
met at the Elms with Therese, and really became dear 
friends, while as yet no flicker of the tender flame betrayed 
any inward emotions. But as still waters run the deepest, 
so the affections, in like manner, may ripple calmly on be- 
cause of the depths in which they flow. 

One quiet afternoon, however, as they walked by the 
river, came that sudden confession which she trembled to 
hear. Rather singularly, too, they were now in the haunted 
dell, where their acquaintance was so romantically formed. 
The sun was sinking behind the distant woods, flooding 
stream, meadow and forest with its beautiful light, and 
they stopped here to admire the sunset. 

" Huldah," said he, taking his place by her side, " do 
you remember the song we sang that moonlight night upon 
the river ? " 

"Yes, perfectly well. It is called 'Only in Dreams/ 
and was written by a friend of Therese, who sent her the 



102 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

manuscript. I remember how you rowed the boat so as to 
keep time with the music. Listen, and I will sing you the 
first stanza." 

Only in dreams must I dwell on thy beauty, 

Lest from my heart gush its love-fevered streams ; 
And though we part at the stern call of duty, 

Still wilt thou linger the queen of my dreams. 
O dear one ! though now from each other we sever, 

The roses will bloom round thy pathway again; 
But the bard that adores thee must wander forever, 

In valleys of shadow, in silence and pain ! 

" That is the song I liked so well ; thank you for singing 
it." His voice was low and tender, she noticed. And he 
had never called her Huldah before — not even when Therese 
was with them. 

" Well, can you guess of what I am thinking, Huldah ? " 

" Oh, Doctor Bramhall, why should I ? I am not 
versed in mind reading." The roguish light in her hazel 
eyes told him she was in one of her merry moods again. 

" Perhaps my trouble is more intimately connected with 
the heart," he returned with well feigned gravity. 

" And what can have happened to your heart, Doctor 
Bramhall?" was her naive question. "Therese is always 
joking you about having no heart." 

"But seriously, though, I have. And since hearing that 
song I have wondered if it is wise to longer check its ' love- 
fevered streams.' Huldah, do you know I am going away 
to-morrow — perhaps to see you no more, only in dreams ? " 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 103 

"Why, no!" — in a startled way. "I thought you were 
going with us next week to Jockey Cap. And Therese 
tells me you have friends at Highland Park, too." 

"Well — a letter received to-day has changed all that. 
It is pleasing to make plans, but I realize now how earnest 
is life." 

" Yes, of course you know best. But I — we — Therese 
and all of us, will miss you so much." A tear trembled in 
her eye. 

" Ah, but will you miss me ? " came the sudden question. 
".For you must know I love you, Huldah — love you with 
all sincerity." 

No, she had not known before ; yet had dared to hope, 
in spite of herself, that he might some day love her as she 
did him. But reason whispered, "He is rich — you are 
poor ; away with such fancies — they are but air ! " And 
as a brave resolve came to her, she realized, alas ! how true 
it was. 

Doctor Bramhall, now that his passion for this country 
girl had plunged him into it, proved a finished love maker. 
Huldah found herself within a close embrace, and felt his 
ardent kisses upon her lips. She struggled for a moment 
in his arms, but it was like the fluttering of a frightened 
bird, that tries to escape from its gilded prison and then 
bursts forth in song. He only held her all the closer, 
while the melody of his voice seemed to her as the music 
of a dream. 



104 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

" We have been very happy together," he continued, for 
the girl was silently crying, which he regarded as a good 
omen. 

"Yes, very happy, Hilliard — Mr. Bramhall," between 
her broken sobs. "But you must let me go! I do not 
love you well enough to be your wife. Oh ! I did not 
think of this — for, if I must tell you, my destiny is already 
decided upon." He chose to put a wrong construction 
upon her answer, and, thinking she had been only playing 
with him, he released her with sudden jealousy. 

"You are cruel," he said bitterly. "I did not think 
you so. But a coquette you have proved. Ah ! well, a 
pretty face — " 

"Oh, don't, don't say that?" she pleaded. "Call me 
cruel — heartless — indiscreet, if you will — but not a coquette. 
You do not know what anguish this is, or surely you would 
spare me ! " 

" Forgive me, Huldah ? " His voice was tender and 
sympathetic. "It is I who am cruel. And yet it is hard 
to give you up — my heart's first idol. Then there are 
earlier hopes ? You have pledged yourself to the future ! " 

" Yes, earlier hopes — and I must be true." She was 
looking drearily over the meadows, as he stood with his 
arms folded before her. 

" And may happiness crown your choice," he said. " But 
it is growing late, Miss Stratton ; so we will say good-bye. 
I am going," 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 105 

He took her hand a moment, then turned quickly home- 
ward, leaving Huldah to wait for Linky. She thought he 
had left her forever, and a sharp pain shot through her 
heart as she recalled his coldness at parting. And when 
he had disappeared, she gave herself up to a paroxysm of 
grief. 

" Oh, it is so cruel to let him go like this ! " she sobbed. 
Her heart was filled to overflowing, and the tears would 
come, for nature has wisely ordained that the torrent of 
human suffering shall at times flow out from the overbur- 
dened spirit. At length she became alarmed at Linky's 
absence, and called his name without getting a reply. 
Above in the meadow she heard the faint tinkling of a cow 
bell, mingled with the lowing of the kine, and thinking he 
had gone after his cows she hastened home alone. 

" Jee-whiz ! what funny things girls is ! " exclaimed 
Linky, emerging from his place of concealment. He had 
hidden behind the bushes to frighten them, and, without 
meaning to be a spy, was forced to see and hear all that 

had taken place between his friends. 

# * * # # 

I shall always believe that the good genii led Doctor 
Bramhall to visit the haunted dell that night ; he seemed 
drawn there by some irresistible impulse, rather than of 
his own volition. This spot upon the Mahahlah was known 
by him as a famous trouting pool ; where, under the shad- 



106 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

ow of deep green foliage, he had passed many a quiet after- 
noon ensnaring the silvery trout ; so it may be that the 
associations of the place, as he expected to leave the village 
in the morning, drew him once more to the dell. 

And Huldah — what of her ? He could not so steel his 
heart as to look upon these scenes again without one tender 
thought of the woman he had loved. Often they had 
loitered here by the river, and Huldah would nestle closer 
to his side, as if danger could not reach her while he was 
near, when the path grew hazardous and the dull roaring 
of the Mahahlah falls was heard. He thought of her now, 
or tried to think, as one dead to him. A few brief hours 
ago, love had held the lines of destiny; to-night his old, 
bitter pride was king. 

He was, nevertheless, something of a philosopher. It 
would have been strange, too, if life had not shown him 
the value of clear thinking. The story of Socrates had 
impressed him deeply when a student ; and more than once 
in his own life the hemlock of bitter experience had touched 
his lips. And so he sensibly decided to quaff the draught 
of oblivion now, for if Huldah Stratton loved another, as 
he believed she did, the better way was to tear her image 
from his heart. 

Though he is my friend, candor compels the admission 
that he had run the gauntlet of many flirtations, and with- 
out danger of being impaled upon the matrimonial lance. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 107 

And the one thought that now vexed his spirit was the re- 
flection that it had been reserved for this rustic beauty to 
pierce the only vulnerable point in his armor. 

A woman, though the weaker vessel, is not infrequently 
the strongest when adverse currents beset love's devious 
course ; so the feminine mind is quick to single out the 
object of a man's affections, amoug a limited number of 
friends. Doctor Bramhall realized this when alone with 
Therese that evening. He was moody, abstracted in man- 
ner, and so unlike himself that his cousin thought him ill. 

Therese, being on terms of intimacy with Huldah, had 
guessed his secret, he felt sure ; and yet, instead of availing 
himself of her sympathy and help, he foolishly practiced 
deception. But Therese, happy enough in her parents' 
love, refrained from meddling with the affairs of others. 

Bed-time came, and one by one the village lights disap- 
peared, but he was not in the mood for sleeping, and after 
leaving Therese with a cousinly kiss he went out for a late 
walk. 

" Good night, Hilliard," she called from her window, as 
he passed through the garden. " And, oh ! look here, 
chicken," she added, "you'd better not go down to the 
haunted dell, for you might see the ghosts to-night." 

" I'm afraid you are growing superstitious, Therese," he 
laughingly replied. " And as for the place being haunted, 
my dear girl — surely you are not so credulous ! " 



108 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

" Oh, of course I'm not, yon great goose ! How dull 
you are not to understand me." 

" Yes, cousin mine, I am a dull fellow to-night. The 
fact is, I'm not feeling well. I have a — a headache, that's 
all. But good-night and pleasant dreams. I'll not be very 
late — probably." 

He noiselessly shut the gate, picked a lovely rose from 
her favorite bush, and, dropping into a brisk walk, was 
soon upon the brow of the hill. 

The night was beautiful, with clear, starry skies and a 
crescent moon, while a faint breeze, laden with myriad 
scents, blew from seaward. At another time his contem- 
plative soul might have found its Elysium amidst all this 
grandeur and loveliness. For he was of those who may 
exclaim, sacred silence ! manifold are thy blessings. He 
was alone it is true — and yet there is a proverb that "man 
is never less alone than when alone." 

Below in the valley he saw the moonlit waters of the 
Mahahlah, looking so peaceful and bright that he descended 
the hill, thinking he would walk homeward through the 
meadow. It was darker in the valley, but the moon was 
rising above the tree tops, and he kept on towards the dell, 
leaving the slumbering village far behind. 

"I am surely bewitched," he soliloquized, "or else 
Therese's ghosts have me in their power. Dear little girl 
— she, at least, wants to see me happy. But it does seem 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 109 

ghostly down here, after all. I'll laugh, or do something 
to break the enchantment. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Now I'll listen 
for the echo." 

The echo came with startling distinctness from a point 
below on the river. A sepulchral voice echoed back " jee- 
whiz ! " followed by a splash of some object falling into the 
water. He had half determined to retrace his steps when 
a crackling noise on the other side of the river was heard, 
as though some one coming down the path had stepped on 
a dry twig. 

The Mahahlah at this point flows between two high 
ledges, over which, and serving as a foot bridge, is a huge 
knotted log. He listened closely and was certain he heard 
a twig crack under the light tread of a woman, whose 
garments he could hear trailing against the bushes. 

As the moon, now rising high above the forest, disclosed 
the willowy outlines of a woman within the haunted dell — 
and that woman Huldah Stratton, whose face he had not 
meant to look upon again — his feelings can be better 
imagined than described. 

He passed his hand rapidly across his eyes, as one some- 
times does when a sudden blindness is experienced, and 
found his vision had not deceived him. While condemning 
her lack of maidenly discretion — for he thought the girl 
was here by appointment — he could not help feeling some- 
thing of the old tenderness for her. 



110 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

"A last good-bye, sweet spirit of the dell," he lightly- 
remarked, turning to leave the spot. " I'm not so base as 
to spy upon you. Be happy with your country lover — alone 
with silence and the stars. Humph ! what fine phrases sug- 
gest themselves to-night. Ah, she is coming, and may see 
me in the moonlight." 

The girl came close to the river, and, to his horror, started 
to cross upon the log. He must warn her of the danger, 
for the uncertain light of the moon rendered the situation 
perilous. Picking up a few stones he meant to frighten 
her by splashing them in the water. But in the meantime 
he made a discovery — one of so startling a nature, that his 
heart seemed to have ceased its beating. 

Huldah was a sleep-walker ! She had on her white school 
dress and wore her slippers, which indicated that she had 
not retired for the night, but fell asleep during the evening. 
He knew that people who go about in sleep seldom come to 
harm unless awakened at the wrong time; and this made 
him more hopeful, for when she had crossed he would 
gently arouse her. The river mocked him with demonaic 
laughter as it hurried onward, eager to dash its moonlit 
waters into the white foam of the cataract below, while, 
sure-footed as a fawn, the girl continued her journey. 

" Tu-whit ! tu-whoo ! " He knew that cry ; it was the 
shrill signal of the gray owl, and was answered from point 
to point along the river. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. Ill 

Huldah started as if awakening from some horrid dream, 
held out her arms imploringly, and sank into the deep, 
swiftly flowing waters of the Mahahlah. 

The next instant almost, Doctor Bramhall, divested of 
his outer clothing, was struggling with her in his arms 
against the strong current, which had borne her near the 
rocks and inflicted a cruel wound on her temple. 

" Huldah — my poor darling ! " he cried, as a low moan 
escaped her lips. He was a strong swimmer, but, burdened 
as he was, the still stronger currents bore them away from 
the shore, and he could not reach the boats of the charcoal 
burners moored somewhere above. 

The deep murmur of the falls fell upon his ear, and in 
the moonlight sparkled the white spray as it shot up from 
the ledges, giving warning of the dangers below. Their 
nearness to the rapids filled him with dismay ; but he grew 
wonderfully calm, for the course of the river was taking 
them shorewards, and as a drowning man will catch at 
straws, so he watched for some overhanging tree by the 
river. 

Huldah had lost all consciousness, and lay pale and rigid 
upon his arm. The whirlpool was surely drawing them 
into its vortex j all hope seemed futile. Once he clutched 
wildly at the low branches of a willow, only to find his 
weight too great for these trees, which, excepting a giant 
elm above the whirlpool, were the only ones growing over 



112 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

the river. This tree was his last hope — a forlorn hope, it 
is true, but he might gain support from its low-hanging 
branches till help arrived. 

But would anyone be likely to come in search of them ? 
he wondered. Perhaps Therese might listen for his step on 
the garden walk, as she had done before when he was off 
on his late rambles, and becoming alarmed at his long de- 
lay, arouse her father. And then, yielding to some strange 
influence of the time, he thought how much easier it was 
to die with Huldah, for she would penetrate with him the 
mysteries of death. But a look into her pale face, as she 
drifted with him, dispelled these selfish fancies. 

His cries for help echoed through the forest, floated 
away on the river, and reverberated from cave-like hollows 
in its banks. Once he fancied that he heard a feeble shout 
in reply. Yes! it was plainer now, and coming gradually 
nearer each time. This discovery infused a new cour- 
age, and being now underneath the big elm, he had 
strength enough to seize its low branches, which he held 
with a desperate resolve to meet death calmly, if such was 
to be the will of fate. How idle to think of death with 
help so near ! But a feeling of drowsiness and languor 
was stealing over him, every nerve in his body seemed 
drawn to its utmost tension, and he knew they could not 
much longer endure the strain. 

To his horror he found the bough was breaking ; this he 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 113 

had not looked forward to, and it filled him with despair. 
He would soon be at the mercy of the whirlpool, which, at 
least, would not let him sink until drawn into its terrible 
vortex. A faint gleam from the moon, shining softly down 
through the branches, lighted them on to death. He 
listened breathlessly to know if friends were yet in search 
of them, but the loud roaring of the cataract was all he 
heard. 

Out from the darkness of the shore crept a shadowy boat, 
which was being rapidly rowed down river by a boy — none 
other than our young friend Linky Parks, whose garments 
were dripping from an involuntary bath in the river. He 
had tumbled from the rocks into the water, when Bram- 
hall's wild laughter rang out on the quiet night, but luckily 
found this boat near the shore. 

Linky, as we know, possessed a boy's love for Huldah 
Stratton, and this devotion led him to follow her into the 
forest. He had gone to bed shortly after dark, leaving 
Huldah sitting at a window watching the moon coming up 
over the mountains. 

" Poor Huldy ! " thought the boy, as he tried to go to 
sleep, "she aint very happy to-night, and I know why. 
She's in love with the Doctor. But she won't marry him, 
'cause she's only a country girl and aint like his folks. I 
heard her cryin' on marm's shoulder, and know what he 
said when he kissed her to-day. Of course she had to tell 



114 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

marm all about it — or may be her heart would bust. Jee- 
whiz ! girls is funny things after all." 

Linky could not go to sleep as usual ; he wanted to do so, 
in order to visit his beaver trap early in the morning. Why 
is it that a boy's imagination is never so fertile as when 
bed-time comes ? His pillow assumed queer shapes, but 
sleep eluded the youngster's grasp ; and he tried many ex- 
pedients to get asleep, such as saying his prayers backwards, 
marking the ticking of the clock, and counting imaginary 
sheep as they jumped over the pasture bars. His active 
brain disclosed sheep black and white, little and big, vault- 
ing through the air, but even this old-time narcotic failed 
to act, and he dressed himself and stole out to the orchard. 

The moon having now climbed over the hill tops, he did 
not feel afraid, but at once started toward the river. He 
had not gone far before he saw a woman ahead of him in 
the path. So great was his surprise, as he drew nearer, to 
find in her his teacher, that he followed on without speak- 
ing, full of a boy's curiosity regarding her errand so late 
at night. 

He had left her alone in the twilight, at a window front- 
ing the river, where she watched the moonbeams play upon 
the water till she fell asleep. Poor girl ! — the musings at 
the window were unhappy ones ; sleep was as a balm to her 
sad heart. And with the drowsy god came a wild, strange 
dream about the dell, which led her in slumber as we have 
seen. 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 115 

The course of the narrative takes us again to the Mahah- 
lah, where we left Linky pulling the boat in the direction 
whence proceeded Doctor Bramhall's cries. He had seen 
him jump into the river, but could not gain the spot in 
time. But by following the sound of his voice, Linky now 
reached the exhausted man, who, clinging to the boat, was 
safely taken to the shore — saved from death and the whirl- 
pool. 

" God bless you, my brave lad ! " he said to Linky, as 
with Huldah in his arms he sank upon the shore. "You 
have saved us from a terrible fate. But now go for help 
to the nearest place. Your teacher must be quickly cared 
for, or she may die! " 

When Huldah Stratton regained consciousness the gray 
light of morning was stealing over her couch in the cottage 
of the charcoal burners. By her side Doctor Bramhall 
knelt, with touch as delicate as a woman's. 

The scene at the river all came back to her now: the 
sudden awakening, her fall from the log, and the recog- 
nition of her rescuer before she became insensible. But 
Linky — how came he here ? 

The Doctor wisely forbade all mental excitement, while 
he stopped her words of gratitude with — a kiss ! He under- 
stood his patient perfectly at this moment, and, thanks to 
the whispered consultation he had held with Linky, the 
diagnosis of his first case of somnambulism was productive 
of mutual felicity. 



116 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

And now it is August again. Bless me ! how the 
months roll round. Huldah has been married nearly a 
year, and with Doctor Bramhall is visiting Therese at the 
Elms. 

But you thought — Ah ! dear reader, speculation in love 
affairs availeth little. Hearts are much the same to-day as 
they have always been. There are mountains we cannot 
climb ; there are rivers we may not cross ; there are hopes 
that will never find fruition ! But there is also "a divinity 
that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will." 




SONGS AND SKETCHES. 117 



IN CAS 00 BAY. 




" I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 

And catch, in sudden gleams, 
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, 
And islands that were the Hesperides 

Of all my boyish dreams." — Longfellow. 

here will be no school this afternoon/' said Pro- 
fessor Clyde, the new teacher at Sunnyglade Academy, 
as lie was about to open the morning session. At this 
unexpected good news, every boy in the school looked up 
with astonishment. But still no one ventured to ask the 
reason why, for they as yet stood half in awe of their stern- 
browed instructor. 

" We will take a half holiday/' continued the Professor, 
glancing over his gold-bowed glasses to note the effect of 
these words. 

" I presume you would like to make an excursion to the 
seashore; and as I have the idea of giving you a pleasure 
trip, I hope to meet you all here after dinner for that pur- 
pose. A train will take us to Seaview, and I have en- 
gaged a schooner there for a trip down the bay. Attention 
now to studies, and remember to be in season this after- 



118 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

At the time named the boys were ready for the train, 
and after an hour's ride they reached Seaview on the shores 
of Casco Bay, where Professor Clyde had made every 
necessary preparation for a pleasant afternoon. 

They were to embark at once on the schooner Sophier 
Ann, which had a short while before come up from Fisher- 
man's Ridge to take the excursion party aboard. Skipper 
Barnabas, who owned the schooner, was thoroughly famil- 
iar with the bay, and had a good crew to manage the ves- 
sel, so there was little fear that any accident would happen 
to mar the pleasures anticipated. 

As a part of the afternoon's enjoyment, they were to land 
on one of the many islands in the bay and there indulge 
in a " clam-bake " and "■ cunner-fry," which in themselves 
would make a delicious supper, to say nothing of the gen- 
erous supply of eatables brought from the Academy. 

Now that all were on board the schooner, the skipper lost 
no time in getting under sail. After clearing from the 
wharf, the vessel's course was shaped for the Portland side 
of the bay, as the wind was most favorable in that quarter, 
and also because it would afford a finer view of the sur- 
rounding scenery. 

Away sped the light-footed Sophier Ann, and in a short 
time was discerned the Cleeves monument on the eastern 
promenade of the city, with green foliage towering be- 
yond; while below glistened the harbor where ships 
were lying at anchor, where busy island steamers were 



SONGS ANT) SKETCHES. 119 

puffing under heavy burdens, and where grim-looking fort- 
resses kept watch over the scene. 

The wind was now blowing quite fresh, and the boys 
sniffed the salty-flavored breeze with evident relish. It 
was a beautiful afternoon. Many sails were seen among 
the islands, but in the other direction — out to sea — it was 
almost deserted, save for one or two small vessels that were 
part of the mackerel fleet. 

If the reader has never looked " out to sea," perhaps it 
will be hard to understand any description. But if you can 
imagine yourself on some high cliff with water everywhere 
before you, till the sky shuts down on it like a huge um- 
brella, a faint idea may be formed of the spectacle. The 
sight is not a grand one, and after a wbile the eye 
grows tired of its monotony, but yet in it there is a fasci- 
nation for those who love the mysterious. 

Look at yonder vessel just coming out from the harbor, 
which proves to be a barkentine bound for the West Indies. 
Everything is bustle and stir on board, for they are fairly 
getting under sail. 

Was that a dog barking ? you ask. Oh, jes ; every ship 
should have one on board, or what would they do for the 
dog-watch ? And very likely you will find a hencoop, too, 
filled with cackling biddies, or perhaps see a sleek-looking 
cat asleep in the sunshine, with her weather eye fixed on 
the shaggy Newfoundland baying at the gulls. 

All these will be rare company for the homesick cabin 



120 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

boy, when the ship is far from his native shores. How it 
will gladden his heart some morning to awaken from a 
sweet, lingering dream of home, and hear the hens clamor- 
ing for their breakfast, led on by the fussy old rooster with 
gay plumage, who crows as lustily as if he were perched on 
the barnyard fence far away in Maine. 

And is that cat really a cat o' nine tails ? No, indeed; 
she has but one tail, and that is often one too many for 
puss, as it is liable to be stepped on by the clumsy cook. 
But you must not ask any more questions at this time. 
See, the crew are going aloft to set the topsails, and the 
pilot is climbing over the side of the vessel. Now he has 
dropped into his boat, the line is thrown off, and the bark- 
entine leaves him bobbing up and down in her wake. 

Skipper Barnabas was an old fisherman, and as they 
drew near the mackerel boats, his practiced eye saw that 
they had struck a "school" of these fish, and were pulling 
them in at a lively rate. The boys were greatly excited at 
the scene, and, of course, wanted to catch some mackerel 
for supper instead of fishing for dinners. So a rush was 
made for the lines, and everything got in readiness. 

If the reader lives where brooks and streams abound, 
very likely he has ensnared many a silvery trout b}^ skim- 
ming a buzzing fly over the surface, or coaxed many a lazy 
fish up from the sand}' bottom by baiting his hook with a 
wriggling worm. This may do very well for trout and the 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 121 

like, but the mackerel do not care for such dainties, and the 
fishermen would fare poorly if they had to stop and bait 
the hooks. 

Instead of this a quantity of finely ground bait is thrown 
overboard, which floats upon the sea, and soon the surface 
of the water is covered with the hungry mackerel. Those 
on the vessels now begin work with the lines, which con- 
tinues until the fish have kept them. It luckily happened 
that the skipper had left a small quantity of this bait 
aboard the schooner, or else the bo}^s would have lost their 
sport. 

" There seems to be suthin' wrong over there," remarked 
Skipper Barnabas, with a nod of his head in the direction 
of the fishermen. " Lookit the way they're hurryin' round, 
and pullin' in their lines ! Shouldn't wonder if they've 
found a whale, for there's a man with a harpoon in his 
hand." 

"I did'nt know they were ever found in this latitude, or 
at least not so near land," said Professor Clyde. 

" They aint, generally, sartin ; but once in a while they 
happen to get chased into the Gulf Stream, or maybe foller 
a school of sharks this way, and then it's nat'ral for 'em 
to rove around after cold water again." 

At the mere mention of whales each boy wanted to be 
the first to see this monarch of the deep. Some went aloft 
the better to watch for " blows," as they had often read of 



122 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

this practice in whaling stories ; others ran to the vessel's 
side, while Fattie Fink, who volunteered to act as the 
boatswain, stood ready to blow his whistle in case the 
crew should get orders to go in pursuit. The schooner 
had but one boat, however, and perhaps it was just as well 
that no such order was given ; for, of course, no boy would 
have felt willing to give up the pleasure of chasing a prob- 
able descendant of the whale that made itself immortal by 
befriending Jonah the Ninevite. 

The skipper was right, however, about there being some 
excitement among the fishermen. It was evident that a 
large fish was the object of attention, and it had very like- 
ly driven away the mackerel. 

"It's a shark ! it's a shark ! " cried some of the boys on 
the schooner, as a huge fish appeared upon the surface of 
the sea, its body shining in the bright sunlight. 

"No! no! It looks just like a young whale!'' cried 
another. 

" Wherebouts is it ? I don't see nary a shark, nor 
whale, nor nothin' else but that red buoy yonder ! " This 
question was asked by Skipper Barnabas, whose vision was 
not of the best. 

"Just the other side of the buoy. Look ! there he goes ; 
now he's under that floating sea-weed ! " 

"No ; he isn't there now ! Must have dived down again. " 

Such conjectures as these were freely expressed, but all 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 123 

went wide of the mark, so far as the kind of fish was con- 
cerned. 

" It's a sea serpent ! Sure as you're born, it is ! " cried 
Fattie Fink, with great earnestness of spirit. 

"Joe Blodgett told me there was one in Royals river, 
and that aint far from here, you know. And he said it had 
two heads and fourteen tails ; because it chased his grand- 
father once, and he stopped to count 'em." 

"Ye're all on yer wrong," remarked Skipper Barnabas, 
who had now sighted the object of so much curiosity. 
" 'Taint neither a shark, nor a whale, nor a sea-sarpent — 
but a whoppin' big hoss mack'ril." 

"Do you mean old Neptune's horse ? " asked Ralph Os- 
borne, who had long cherished a wish to see this wonderful 
animal, and still hoped there was such a thing in the sea. 
" What sort of a fish is it, anj^way ? " 

" A hoss mack'ril," said the skipper, as he gave the wheel 
a turn or two, "is just like any other mack'ril, only it's 
bigger, and weighs two or three hundred pounds some- 
times. You boys orter read your grammar more, so's to 
find out sich things." 

" Professor, you seem to be a smart kind o' sailor, so s'pose 
you take a turn at the wheel, while I have a hand in the 
sport too. They're tryin' to throw a harpoon at the hoss, 
and it won't do to have them Cape 'Lizabeth chaps get 
ahead of us, nohow. There, that's it — steady now ! Just 
keep her a leetle more to the southward." 



124 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

After this instruction the skipper went below, but he 
soon re-appeared with a rusty old harpoon, sharp enough 
to suit his purpose. 

The huge mackerel was sporting in the water, and was 
evidently enjoying itself. As it came nearer the schoon- 
er, her gallant skipper aimed a blow with the harpoon, but 
the rope was not long enough and the spear fell short of 
the mark. The fish soon showed itself again as if to furth- 
er tempt the fates, and wriggled its tail in defiance to the 
Sophier Ann. 

"It's no use tryin' to do anything with this ere harpoon, 
I guess," said Skipper Barnabas at last. "We'll have to 
try some other way, after all. There's more'n one wa} 7- to 
kill a cat, and there orter be more'n one way to kill a hoss 
mack'ril. One of you git me a piece of that pork you 
brought aboard, and we'll try another dodge. If I can 
only git a hook in his mouth, there's lots of fun for you 
boys, and we'll have a chance to see who's the strongest 
puller." 

"You surely don't mean to catch that big fish with a 
hook ? " said Professor Clyde, with astonishment. 

" Cert'nly, I do. I've got some extra strong halibut 
hooks that'll hold him, and we can tie on a small hawser to 
pull in on." 

The large hook was now baited, while a strong rope was 
tied to it, and the skipper again took position at the side 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 125 

of the vessel. The tide carried the tempting morsel with- 
in sight of the horse mackerel, which began to swim nearer 
and nearer, till all at once it turned and made a rush for 
the pork, taking hook and all into its mouth. With a 
skillful twist of the line, Skipper Barnabas hooked the vic- 
tim through the upper jaw, and took a sort of half-hitch in 
the rope, which held the struggling fish firmly. 

" Hoora ! we've got him! we've got him!" }^elled the 
excited skipper, bracing himself against the capstan. 

The boys at once sprang to the rope, and all joined lustily 
in the skipper's song of " Yo-ho ! heave yo ! " 

The more the boys pulled, the more the horse mackerel 
struggled to get free. Suddenly a happy idea seemed to 
occur to the fish. Up to this time every inch of advantage 
was dearly earned, for the " hoss " was a very balky one, 
and little disposed to be led by a ring in its nose. Of 
course, as the boys hauled the rope taut, all that kept them 
on their balance was the weight of the fish at the other 
end; and when, all at once, it changed tactics and darted 
toward them, they tumbled over each other like a row of 
nine-pins. The minute they fell the line was jerked from 
their hands by the fish going in an opposite direction, and 
if the skipper had not been careful to tie it to the capstan, 
the sport would have ended right here. 

So soon as they were on their feet again, the horse 
mackerel was taken in hand for the secoud time, but it was 



126 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

growing weaker by its struggles. Yet the huge fish was 
slowly being drawn out of the water, till in a short while 
it was floundering on the schooner's deck, twisting its body 
into many shapes and trying very hard to escape from its 
captors. 

Now came the tug of war. The mackerel was fully four 
feet long, and gave the boys all they could do to manage it. 
They were pulled all over the deck and tumbled against the 
masts, besides receiving other injuries during the struggle. 

Some of the younger ones grew frightened at the new 
turn of affairs, and climbed up into the rigging, from 
whence they offered wise suggestions to those below. It 
was all very well while they were chasing the horse mack- 
erel, but when the tables were turned they failed to see 
anything funny in it. 

" Some of you drop the line and club the pesky thing, or 
it'll have us all overboard," cried Skipper Barnabas. 

One or two of the boys armed themselves with heavy 
sticks, which had been brought aboard for firewood, and 
Snowball, the darkey cook, now appeared on deck with his 
carving knife. 

But the boys did little harm to the fish, even if they hit 
it at all. The fat boatswain managed to put his stick be- 
tween its jaws, and in return got a blow from its tail fair 
in the stomach. Then another boy took his place, but met 
with no better success. 



SOJSfGS AND SKETCHES. 127 

There is no telling how long this would have continued 
had not Snowball, by a misdirected stroke of the knife, 
severed the line and allowed the horse mackerel to escape 
into the sea. 

"There, you've done it now!" cried the boys. "All 
our trouble for nothing. What made you cut the rope, 
Snowball ? " 

"I didn't do it a-purpose, anyway," said the grinning 
Snowball. 

"It is just as well, after all," said the Professor. " The 
fish would be of no value to us. Let it go back to its na- 
tive element, for it has certainly earned its freedom." 

" 'Taint so much the hoss I care about," remarked Skip- 
per Barnabas, "as 'tis the glory of beatin' them Cape 
fellers over yonder. And, besides, it's got my best halibut 
hook, too." 

" As to the glory of the affair," returned Professor Clyde, 
" I guess your reputation is all right, as you pulled the fish 
aboard, while it was only by accident that it got away. 
And now we'd better steer for the island, before it gets any 
later." 

The stars were twinkling in the dark sky when the party 
arrived at Seaview that night. Owing to the winds and 
tides they were longer delayed than was expected, but this 
only pleased the boys all the better. A memorable after- 
noon had waned to its close, and the time is far distant 
when its events will be forgotten at Sunnyglade. 



128 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 



THE MAJOR'S APE. 



n/eip, drip, drip ! Would the sunshine never relieve 
us from this enforced imprisonment within the grim walls 
of Berkley Grange ? It seemed, indeed, as if this oft- 
repeated question might safely be answered in the negative, 
judging from the dull aspect of the heavens, which gave 
no token of fairer weather. For three whole days had the 
rain drops beat a pitiless fusilade against the window pane, 
and tumbled the gold and purple leaves from the stately 
beech and maple, till their half denuded branches presented 
that sorry spectacle suggestive of autumnal decay, and on 
the fourth day of our arrival there was no apparent cessa- 
tion of hostilities— not even the prospect of a patched-up 
armistice of a few hours only, in which to explore the sur- 
roundings of that crumbling old relic of the past called the 
Grange. 

" Confound this beastly weather ! " was the frequent ex- 
pression of our grizzled old Major, whose guests we were, 
as he paced up and down the long library, or gazed abstract- 
edly into the glowing hearth ; for though the season was 
not cold, in the sense in which that term is commonly 
used, yet this excessive humidity rendered a glow of warmth 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 129 

from the shining products of Newcastle most acceptable 
indeed. 

This imprecation upon the state of the weather was in- 
variably seconded by two officers of Her Majesty's Lancers, 
lounging in that languid manner peculiar to military men 
off duty. And it certainly was provoking. Only a week 
of our furlough remained, before we should go marching 
back to India or the Transvaal — we hardly knew which, 
owing to the red tape measures in which all governments 
delight ; and as yet we had not been permitted to realize 
the object of our pilgrimage down into the very heart of 
Devonshire — a fox hunt across the hills and dales of one 
of the most famous courses in all England. 

If it were not for the Major's ape time would have 
dragged wearily with Leigh and myself, despite Berkley's 
open hospitality, and the charm of Madeline's ballads and 
subtle glances as we hung over the piano and turned her 
music. But it is not my purpose, in alluding to that really 
charming girl, to " lute and flute fantastic tenderness." I 
am, at best, an old dog of war, and loyal only to my queen. 
To Leigh, who is much the younger and better looking, be- 
longs the privilege of writing a panegyric on the subject of 
feminine charms. Egad! but the boy made love like a 
soldier. 

Jocko was a rare companion during those rainy days. 
He was, moreover, the finest specimen of the ape species I 



130 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

had ever seen, and seemed endowed with an intelligence 
that much inclined us toward the Darwinian view of 
things. In stature Jocko bore no slight resemblance to a 
man, being four feet two and one-quarter inches tall, well 
proportioned, and when walking erect, as he invariably did, 
presented a soldierly bearing. The Major, who had re- 
ceived his strange protege from a friend at the Zoo, had 
taught the animal a number of clever maneuvers, and as 
Jocko was docile and willing to learn, we found pleasure 
in imparting a supplementary course of instruction in 
military ethics, which seemed to impress the ape with the 
gravity of the discipline he so patiently underwent. So in 
teaching Jocko to turn and wheel, right-about and left- 
oblique, while he varied the march to suit his own whims, 
Leigh and I in a measure grew reconciled to our environ- 
ment, and talked less of hounds and foxes, till even the 
Major ceased to dilate upon the charms and dangers of the 
chase. 

Berkley Grange, like all old mansions that link the tra- 
ditions of the past with the doubting, matter-of-fact to-day, 
had its ghostly visitant that periodically performed all the 
duties encumbent upon a conscientious spirit of the race. 
The latest phase in its history, however, according to the 
servants, would seem to be the adoption of a semi-military 
style of dress and a habit of parading with drawn sword 
through the deserted corridors, to finally vanish in thin air 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 131 

behind a life-size portrait of George III, as if that grim 
old tyrant was still the refuge of evil doers fleeing from the 
light of a dawning rationalism. 

We were discussing his ghostship with the Major, and 
also discussing a bottle of very old Madeira by way of ren- 
dering the discussion all the more spirited, when he in- 
formed us that the family jewels had been purloined from 
their usual place, and every effort to discover them had 
proved futile. What was of infinitely more consequence, 
the very legal documents by which his ancestral halls were 
insured to future Berkleys were also missing, and irrepa- 
rable ruin would follow their ultimate loss. 

Allow me, at the outset, to say that a belief in the super- 
natural, with all that the term implies, has never been 
included in my category of shortcomings. Either from the 
precocity of childhood, or some other cogent reason, the 
seeds of superstition so industriously sown in the nursery 
have fallen on barren ground, and have not attained to the 
gigantic proportions of the grain of mustard seed, in whose 
umbrageous branches the birds of evil omen may croak the 
constant pratings of a silly nurse. Still, I must confess to a 
sensation akin to that described by the shade of Hamlet's 
father — where each particular hair manifests a disposition 
to stand on end — when, as I was groping my way along the 
dark corridors that night, I distinctly saw a ghostly figure 
pacing in pensive mood, and immediately vanish through 



132 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

the wall. By the faint light I could distinguish the showy 
epaulets of au army officer, and fancied I saw the gleaming 
of a sword, as if saluting some imaginary superior. 

Of course I was laughed at in the morning when I re- 
counted my experience with the ghost. The Major pooh- 
poohed and laughingly attributed it to a phantasy of sleep, 
induced by undue quantities of salad; while Leigh, with a 
significant wink, insinuated that the juice of the grape, 
combined with the narcotic properties of a good cigar, some- 
times had a demoralizing effect upon our mental per- 
ceptions. 

" To convince you of the utter absurdity of your story, 
Colonel, we will join you to-night in watching the move- 
ments of this nocturnal prowler," said Leigh, which propo- 
sition was immediately accepted. 

Nothing unusual revealed itself this time; but I pre- 
vailed upon Leigh to continue the vigil the next night, 
though the Major refused any further participation in what 
he characterized as a piece of tom-foolery. Fortunately, 
the weather had now cleared, and the light from the full 
moon streaming in through the hall windows made it easy 
for us to discern objects. 

" I hope you are satisfied now," growled Leigh, who was 
beginning to grow sleepy. 

I looked at my watch. It was just three minutes past 
twelve o'clock — the hour at which wandering spirits are 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 133 

said to begin their nightly revels. Much chagrined at 
this lack of punctuality even in a ghost, I was about to 
acquiesce in Leigh's remark, when a measured tread was 
heard in the opposite direction, which caused my hitherto 
incredulous companion to exclaim in a stage whisper : 

il By the gods of war, Colonel, here it comes ! — aud blowed 
if it isn't of a military turn of mind." 

Out into the moonlight marched a strange apparition sword 
in hand, with all the precision of evolution which charac- 
terizes an old soldier, and made directly for the place where 
two hitherto valiant disciples of Mars were tremblingly 
watching his proceedings. 

My attention was now called in another direction by a 
low chuckle from Leigh, who was almost in a paroxysm of 
suppressed laughter. As soon as he could recover from 
this sudden attack of Momus, he whispered : 

" What a precious pair of idiots we've made of ourselves ! 
Frightened half to death by the antics of an ape ! " 

Sure enough, it was Jocko, attired in the Major's scarlet 
soldier coat, and with his sword taken from its place in the 
hall. 

We were particularly anxious as to what would be the 
next move, as the object of attention was now opposite the 
artist's tribute to departed majesty, the supposed point of 
disappearance. Nor were we disappointed. As if con- 
scious of something before forgotten, the ape took a short 



134 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

survey of George III, when lo ! the massive tablet on which 
he was painted slowly moved to one side, and Jocko disap- 
appeared through the opening. Then I recollected the 
Major had told us of this secret passage to the west wing, 
now unused save as the repository for antique rubbish. 
The ape, undoubtedly, had learned how to open the panel, 
having seen his master do so when showing the Grange to 
visitors. 

So suddenly was this done that had it not been for Leigh's 
presence of mind, our adventure would have ended right 
here; but with commendable promptness he stayed the 
slowly-closing panel by fastening it back with a chair, and 
fairly dragged me in after him just in time to see Jocko 
disappearing down a flight of narrow stairs. Luckily for 
us, the moon shed a refulgent light through a narrow 
grating partly overgrown with ivy, by which we were able 
to follow our guide, which was now a matter of great mo- 
ment with us, as presenting the only means of solving the 
mystery of his movements. Judge of our surprise, on 
emerging again into the moonlight, to find Jocko gleefully 
examining the Berkley jewels, dazzlingly beautiful in their 
clusters and pendants. The cunning ape had concealed the 
casket in this secret passageway, and his midnight jour- 
neys thereto were, it was evident, the subject of the ghostly 
sights and sounds narrated by the servants. 

Everything was now plainly apparent. Jocko, with that 



SONGS AND SKETCHES. 135 

inborn love for mischief which is a notable trait in his species, 
had ransacked his master's room and stolen the precious 
casket, caring nothing for the papers it contained, but 
fascinated by the brilliancy of the gems that reposed within 
its velvety depths. But what strange freak of his monkey 
brain had led him to this hiding place, where at night, in 
all the pomp of borrowed plumage, he could gloat over his 
treasures in security ? Our actions in teaching him to 
play soldier might account for the possession of the coat and 
sword, but as gentlemen we protest that we never, by pre- 
cept or by example, inculcated dishonest practices even in 
an ape. 

It was desirable, as well as important, that the jewels 
and papers should be restored to Berkley at once, lest they 
might be secreted in some other place. To this end, Leigh 
advanced abruptly upon Jocko, when the now surprised 
and maddened creature, giving a strange cry, attacked us 
with all the'fury of its savage nature. 

This we had not expected, and in the struggle that fol- 
lowed it required all our efforts to protect ourselves, for the 
ape made good use of his teeth and nails, and actually tried 
to wield the Major's sword. 

I am not a vain man, but the loss of my whiskers would 
subject me to personal chagrin, besides making me the butt 
of my brother officers ; and as the ape was literally pulling 
out my beard by handfuls, perhaps this reflection, equally 



136 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 

as much as the pain I suffered, led me to tighten my grip 
on the animal's throat. Those of you who have witnessed 
the drama of Virginius remember the closing scene, where 
that grand old Roman throttles Appius Claudius. Well, I 
was the Virginius of the hour ! But, to my lasting sorrow, 
when Jocko's hairy paws relinquished the hold upon my 
beard the poor ape fell dead at my feet. 

The grief of the Major at the death of his pet was com- 
mensurate with the joy occasioned by the recovery of his 
deeds and jewels. In justice to myself, however, I will say 
that he still warmly grasps the hand that gave Jocko his 
quietus. Our adventure with the ghost secured me the 
Major's friendship for life, while Leigh received for his 
reward the hand of Madeline Berkley, for which he boldly 
asked the next morning. 










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